Détente
by LadyElegance
Summary: He should have seen this coming. She had been dressed in a French gown after all and Katherine of Aragon hated the French. AU.
1. Broken Crown

**A/N: Hello ladies and gentlemen and welcome to my first full-length fan fiction, the product of an overactive imagination and my brutally motivating best friend who did not stop me from writing this fic even when I begged her to! Anyway, moving on, as evident by the cover photo, Lotte Verbeek who plays Giulia Farnese in The Borgias will be "playing" Katherine as I have lowered her age in this story from her historical birth date of 1485 to 1490, bringing the age gap between her and Francis I from 9 years to 4. Pics of the rest of the characters will be added to my Flickr soon, whose link is posted on my profile. Enjoy!**

___There's no kindness in your eyes,  
The way you look at me, it's just not right.  
I can tell_ _what_'s___ going on this time,  
There's a stranger in my life.  
You're not the person that I once knew.  
Are you scared to let them know it's you?  
If they could only see you like I do,  
Then they would see a stranger too.. _

___- Stranger by Hilary Duff_

_**June 1529, England  
**_

_"__Have you no kind things to say?"_

_"__Kind?"_

_"__To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me!"_

_"__Katherine, you must accept the inevitable. The weight of academic opinion is against us. We were never legally man and wife. And the court will decide in my favor and if the court does not decide in my favor, I shall denounce the pope as a heretic and marry whom I please!"_

_"__So you were a fucking virgin! That's not the point!____"_

After he left, she had stood there rooted to the spot, her head hung low with her husband's angry words still ringing in her ears. Katherine didn't know what she had expected, for Henry to see reason and come back to her, like he had done in the past? But this Henry was a stranger to her. He was not the kind boy she had married all those years ago. Her Sir Loyal Heart, who had held nothing but love and warmth for her was gone. In his place stood a cold man, who, when he was not busy ignoring her presence had no kind words to say. His eyes now only held contempt and resentment. For her.

If she was truly honest with herself she was tired. Tired of fighting with Henry, who had given her nothing but heartbreak these past few years. Heartbreak and a cold bed. And her precious Mary would be branded a bastard, with no prospects and no future, devoid of her father's love.

From the depths of memory the Imperial Ambassador's words arose with a sharp, cutting clarity.

_"____Your Majesty, the Emperor proposes another solution. He counsels you to accept the annulment and remarry."_

_"__To whom?"_

_"__The King of France."_

Before the Blackfriars trial, when the suggestion had been put to her it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She had vehemently refused. The thought of giving up on her marriage and her place as the rightful Queen of England to wed a Valois had been unthinkable. But now...

Something in her had snapped. In that moment Katherine of Aragon had made a decision that would change everything_.  
_

* * *

That had been days ago, and now as she sat in front of her mirror with her ladies-in-waiting fussing about her, the decision weighed heavily on her. But the memory of Henry's angry face shouting at her made her steel herself and accept that she was doing what was best for her daughter and herself. One of her ladies placed a ruby necklace around her neck, and the Queen took one last look at her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing a deep red gown, made of silk and cut in the French style, her magnificent ruby necklace and matching earrings bringing out her sapphire blue eyes. Katherine looked every inch a Queen.

She was startled out of her musings by the sudden entrance of a breathless Lady Elizabeth, who quickly curtsied to her. "The King has arrived, my lady."

Katherine took a deep steadying breath. _So it begins_.

* * *

For his part the King of England too was lost in his thoughts, as he sat at the dinner table waiting for Katherine to join him. When her dinner invitation had arrived he had scowled at it in irritation and annoyance, remembering all too well how their last dinner together had gone. She had written only that she had an important matter to discuss with him. This dinner, he knew, would follow the same pattern. She would lecture him on the validity of their marriage again! That insufferable woman! If only she would see reason, that their marriage was over and indeed had never been a true marriage, he could have been wedded to his beloved Anne by now, with sons in the royal nursery! Yet she still defied him. Wasn't he the fucking King of England? Her lord and-

"Your Majesty." A soft, accented voice brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up at his wife and froze. Something was different. She was different. He took in her French gown as she gracefully curtsied to him and took a seat at one end of the table. No, it wasn't just the gown, though he couldn't help thinking that it suited her, it was her demeanor. She had not smiled at him in greeting nor had she addressed him as her husband, something she never failed to remind him that he still was. Her expression was stoic and her eyes were closed off, unreadable.

"What is this important matter you have to discuss, Madam? Have you come to lecture me on our marriage again?"

She paused.

"I have come to the realization that our marriage is over. You are not the same man I married, the Sir Loyal Heart I loved, and I wish to accept the annulment, with certain conditions." This she said in a low, steady voice but Henry could detect the edge and the ice in her tone.

He was at a loss for words. He had not expected this at all!

"What conditions?" He managed to get out.

"Our daughter must remain a Princess of England, as our marriage was made in good faith."

Then she delivered the blow.

"And... I wish to marry the King of France."

_What? _

_She wanted to marry.. the fucking King of France?! That French bastard! His enemy! Francis..in her bed?_

"Unacceptable!"

"He is my enemy Katherine, never!"

"You owe me this! I have been nothing but loyal and devoted to you and you cannot say the same! I have put up with your mistresses and your coldness these past years. Mary and I have no future in England. She would always be viewed as a threat by your mistress's family." Her eyes held a fire now, as Katherine held his piercing gaze. He was mesmerized despite himself.

"You would take Mary away from me?" There was a trace of sadness and loss in his voice.

Henry's evident love for Mary touched her heart but it was not enough.

"As you would have taken her away from me."

Silence descended upon the room, bringing with it a dark, suffocating tension. They had reached an impasse, and neither said a word to the other.

After a few moments like this Katherine had enough for one night. "Think on what I have proposed...Henry." She stood and curtsied before departing gracefully. He watched her leave.

He should have seen this coming.

She had been dressed in a French gown after all and Katherine of Aragon hated the French.

And she no longer needed _him_ either.


	2. Giving In

**The King's Apartments, Whitehall Palace, England**

**A Week Later...**

The shock had finally worn off, only to be replaced by anger, loss, joy. It had finally settled on contentment, Henry's current state of mind. He had fully processed that Katherine no longer loved him, or needed him, like she had always done. It had sent him reeling, and he had replayed her words over and over in his mind.

_I have come to the realization that our marriage is over. You are not the same man I married, the Sir Loyal Heart I loved..._

Her love for him had always been a constant in his life. He could always depend on it, even when he had been unfaithful Katherine would always forgive him, like a good wife should. But now she had changed her tune and finally relented on the issue of their marriage. Henry knew he should have been happy with her acquiescence and a part of him had leapt for joy, but the other part simply couldn't believe it. He had gotten used to her resistance for so long, that the idea that she wanted to end their marriage had never entered his mind as a realistic possibility.

Then there was the other matter..

_I wish to marry the King of France._

Henry could accept that she no longer wanted him, but her wish to marry Francis was a different matter. Just the thought of the two of them together made his blood boil. He had wanted to refuse, to tell her to find someone else, _anyone else_, but the image of Anne by his side as his rightful and accepted Queen, and the strong princes she had promised had made him still his tongue and he too had relented. But the more he thought about it the more worked up he got. He needed Anne and her comforting arms to soothe his nerves. Then, as if his mere wish could make it so, she was announced, and she was there in front of him, with her calculated grace and effortless elegance.

"Henry, my love, I've heard joyous news. Katherine has relented. Is it true?"

He got up from the ornate arm-chair he had been slumped in and took her into his arms, breathing in the smell of roses and summer air.

"Yes, sweetheart, it is true. I've spoken with the Imperial and French ambassadors and Katherine and Mary will be in France very soon," he confirmed, painfully aware in that moment of how much he desired her. Anne gave her affection, but never fully, simultaneously intimate and distant, leaving him aching for more, tempting with her bold eyes and even bolder wit. The memory of her touch, light and lingering, the sweet taste of her shapely lips, were imprinted on his mind. Now there would be no obstacles to their marriage. They were free to revel in their love. Officially.

"Then we are truly free to be together, my love," Anne said before capturing his lips into a passionate kiss.

* * *

**Princess Mary's Household, Ludlow Castle, Welsh Marches**

Ludlow Castle was a beehive of activity as ladies-in-waiting and servants rushed to and fro, dismantling Princess Mary's household, packing furniture, books, household items, and Her Royal Highness's personal items and clothes into trunks for her trip to court and her upcoming journey to France, her soon-to-be new home. In the center of it all, the Princess herself appeared to be as calm as a statue, finding peace and solitude in her bedchamber, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the royal residence.

While her outward appearance gave away nothing, Mary's emotions were in disarray, resembling the current state of her household as they tended to their duties around her, leaving her to the privacy of her thoughts. Her mother's letter and her father's summons to court had arrived a day ago. She was to be reunited with her parents, if only to say farewell to her father and to England, for her mother had accepted the annulment and was to become the Queen of France.

She didn't know how she felt about that. It had all happened so suddenly. Only a week ago she had been in danger of becoming the Lady Mary, a royal bastard, to be put aside in favor of the future children her father would have with Anne Boleyn. Now she would remain a Princess of England, only to become Francis I's stepdaughter, and a stepsister to his children, leaving behind all she knew in England. While Mary knew that she would have had to leave England eventually, to marry whom her father pleased, as was her royal duty,but she hadn't expected that moment to come so soon.

Her mother had written in her letter to have strength and trust in God, that going to France was the best course of action and Mary trusted her wisdom. She took comfort in the fact that at least she would be reunited with her mother, and would have her loving arms for comfort, and in the fact that in France, she wouldn't have to pay homage to Anne Boleyn. As a Princess of England and Katherine of Aragon's daughter she would be strong, as her parents expected her to be.

She went over and knelt before her Prie-dieu to pray for her mother's well-being and their uncertain future.

* * *

**The King's Presence Chamber, ****Château de Fontainebleau, France**

"Mon frère Henry has consented to the marriage, oui?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. My master has granted his permission," the English ambassador said, standing before Francis I in his presence-chamber in the magnificent Château de Fontainebleau, a former hunting lodge that the French King had renovated into a beautiful château. It was his pride and joy, the only place he called home.

"Formidable!"

When the Emperor had first proposed that he marry his aunt, Katherine of Aragon, Francis had been taken off guard. The last he had heard of Katherine, she had been fighting to save her marriage to Henry VIII, who wanted to put his wife aside for Anne Boleyn, his late wife Claude's former lady-in-waiting. Now the sad and pious Queen Katherine, Caesar's Pompeia(albeit, with a spotless reputation) would become _his_ second wife.

He would be lying if he said he had not imagined Henry's angry reaction to the news that his wife wanted to marry him of all people, and that the English King's reaction had not played a part in his acceptance of the proposal. He imagined Henry was just burning at the thought of him and Katherine together. More importantly, this marriage would bring back his sons, Francois and Henri, from Spain where they have been held hostage since 1526, prisoners in place of him, after his disastrous defeat at Pavia, where he had been captured by Imperial forces. She would make a good wife at the very least and he would have his sons back. He would be gaining a stepdaughter in the process, the Princess Mary, a beautiful and intelligent child he had heard. She would make a good companion for his daughters, Madeleine and Marguerite.

"Shall I send Henry VIII a wedding invitation, Your Excellency? Or a letter of gratitude, for sending me his wife, or is she his sister-in-law now, perhaps?"

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound, very much amused at the King of England's expense.

* * *

French translation:

Mon frère- my brother

oui -yes

Formidable- wonderful, splendid

A/N: There you have it, a brief cameo by the first gentleman of France! I would like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, and followed this story. It means the world to me. Lots of love to you all! I hear wedding bells in the next chapter...


	3. The Pomegranate and The Salamander

_She is the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, perhaps the people think she is what a queen ought to be-Thomas More_

**July 1529, Calais**

The day dawned bright and clear, holding the promise of a hot summer day as the ship landed at Calais to the sound of deafening cannon fire, the greeting reverberating in the still air. The seas for their journey had been mercifully favorable, unlike the turbulent seas that had troubled another journey, made a long time ago, Katherine remembered, when the bride had been a young girl full of dreams and not the woman whose dreams had been dashed. But now was not the time to indulge in bitter memories, she thought, as she and Princess Mary prepared to exit the ship, along with their respective retinues. Katherine breathed in the salty sea air, turning briefly to give her daughter an encouraging smile as they stepped off the ship and onto land.

Cheering crowds of the town's inhabitants had gathered to welcome the new Queen of France and her daughter. They were not disappointed and responded with enthusiasm when Katherine and Mary waved regally in their direction, dressed in their finery, their jewels glittering in the sunlight. Coming forward from among the crowd was the Grand Master of France, Anne, Baron de Montmorency, who had been charged with the task of escorting Katherine and Princess Mary to Paris and a group of high-ranking French courtiers.

Coming to a standstill before Katherine and Mary, he bowed low, along with the other gentlemen in his party. "Madame, welcome to France. I am the Baron de Montmorency and I have the honor and pleasure of escorting Your Royal Hignesses to Paris," he said in a thick French accent. Montmorency took in the appearances of the two royals before him. The Queen was an elegant, graceful creature with a fair, alabaster complexion, auburn hair peeking out from under her French hood, embroidered with pearls. She was dressed sumptuously in a deep blue French gown, made of silk, and embroidered with pearls to match her French hood, along with other expensive jewels, such as rubies and sapphires. Her brilliant blue eyes held wisdom and he could tell that they missed nothing. She looked more English then Spanish, he thought.

The daughter greatly resembled the mother with the same lovely fair complexion, auburn hair and the dignified grace that emanated from her mother, except her eyes were a dark grey. She looked lovely and elegant in a dark green gown, cut in the French style as well and made of silk, the expensive jewels embroidered on the front glittered tantalizingly in the sunlight. She met his eyes and dipped a polite curtsy.

"Thank you for the gracious welcome to your fair France Monsieur, and the pleasure is all mine," the Queen replied in a pleasant, low voice that commanded respect, her lips curving into a polite smile, yet he could see that it didn't quite reach her eyes. The polite royal mask slipped on and now her eyes were unreadable.

She is every inch a Queen, Montmorency thought, before their respective parties made preparations for their long journey to Paris.

* * *

**A Week Later, Château de Fontainebleau **

Fontainebleau was a feast for the eyes, Katherine thought, with its marble floors, high-vaulted ceilings and elaborate frescoes, even though much of it was still being renovated. She had to admit that the man standing next to her in the chapel had good taste, if grudgingly. She turned slightly to glance at Francis as they listened to the Archbishop read passages from Scripture about the sanctity of marriage. He was dressed magnificently in white satin to match her own gown, precious stones embroidered on the front of his doublet. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he had a handsome face, his rather prominent nose doing nothing to mar that. When he had placed a light kiss on her proffered hand, upon their first meeting in Paris, it had sent a shiver down her spine, despite herself (though she would never admit it if questioned).

He had also aged slightly since the last time she had seen him at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Of course, he had suffered since then too, first the death of his wife Queen Claude in 1524, then his imprisonment by her nephew, the Emperor, after his capture at Pavia. He bore no outward mark of this suffering however, with his lively disposition, but Katherine wondered how much of that was only on the surface. If his outward appearance was lively, in contrast, his sons, Francois and Henri, newly returned from Spain, were affected markedly by their own suffering at the Emperor's hands. She remembered their quiet and reserved demeanor, their empty eyes, but polite greetings upon her arrival in Paris, and it saddened her to see such suffering in children.

Francis wore a blank expression, matching her own, as the Archbishop finished reading and the wedding ceremony continued. Katherine went through the motions as if in a daze, kneeling when required. She repeated the marriage vows in a steady voice, vows she had sworn to twice before, only to have the words turn to dust, and when they exchanged rings she felt nothing, only empty indifference. The Archbishop pronounced them man and wife before the assembled Court and her eyes lighted upon Mary, seated in the front row of pews with the rest of the royal family. She was smiling and clapping along with everyone else.

She had done this for her sake, Katherine reminded herself as the Court heard Mass afterward and her own, for had she stayed in England as Henry's unwanted wife she would have slowly withered away to become a shadow of her former self. At the very least they had a chance at a new beginning here, in France. That is what she told herself for the rest of the evening.

* * *

**Great Hall, Ch****â****teau de Fontainebleau**

"Fontainebleau is beautiful. Your Majesty has excellent taste."

Empty, polite words. Although there was a hint of truth to them.

"I'm glad you think so, Madame, for this is your new home."

Katherine and Francis were both skilled actors in this royal game of casual, detached indifference, and polite, carefully chosen words.

Before them the Court feasted and mingled, a swarm of bright colors and rich fabrics, jewels shining in the candlelight. As the wine flowed their voices rose to a loud chatter. No expense had been spared for the wedding banquet as a rich assortment of food had been laid before them: various meats, duck, fish, an assortment of soups and desserts. But Katherine found she had no appetite. She brought her goblet full of smooth, sweet French wine to her lips and sipped.

"Princess Mary is a lovely child, Madame. She resembles you greatly," Marguerite of Navarre, her new sister-in-law said from her place beside her. Marguerite herself greatly resembled her brother, the King, with her dark hair, dark eyes and quick, lively disposition.

"You are too kind, Madame," Katherine replied as both their gazes traveled down the long table to where Mary sat, in deep conversation with her new stepsisters Madeleine and Marguerite. It warmed her heart to see Mary like this, content and relaxed. She was soon drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of a lively tune struck up by the court musicians from their platform in the front of the hall. Francis turned to her and extended his hand in invitation, which she took so they could open the dancing. Katherine hadn't danced in so long, she worried she had forgotten the steps to some of the popular court dances but found she could keep pace with Francis well enough. Soon her worries were forgotten as Francis spun her around. The other courtiers soon joined them on the dance floor. She had forgotten how alive dancing made her feel, when she had once been Henry's enthusiastic dance partner. She still remembered how they had danced on their wedding day, the way he had spun her around on the dance floor, her auburn hair flying, flying... the utter joy she had felt in his arms.

Francis didn't miss the far away look in her eyes. "Are you well, Madame?"

"You are quite perceptive, Your Majesty," Katherine said as the dance brought them closer together.

"Usually, but you are a closed book, Madame." She was hard to read with her stoic elegance and he wondered what she hid behind that stoicism.

"Is that so? I can read you easily enough, Your Majesty. You are a womanizer, although that is a well known fact, charming, so I've heard but have yet to see with my own eyes, intelligent, passionate. You pretend that your imprisonment doesn't affect you but it does, though you hide it well. You harbor guilt for your sons' own imprisonment. Am I close, Your Majesty?"

She fixed her piercing gaze onto him.

"I think you are the perceptive one, Madame." She gave him a genuine smile, the first all evening, before the dance forced them to change partners. Katherine came face to face with a slender, dark-haired young woman, as graceful as a swan, sure and haughty in her movements.

"Your Majesty," the young woman said, dipping her head low towards her.

"And who are you, Madame?", Katherine questioned as they danced together. She could feel the Court's eyes upon them, watching curiously. She picked out her daughter's laughter in the background, her profile coming into view from the corner of her eye. She was dancing with Prince Charles, Francis's third son and the one that resembled him the most in looks and manner.

"Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly, Duchesse d'Etampes, Your Majesty."

"The King's lover." It wasn't a question. The Duchess raised an eyebrow at this.

"I didn't miss the looks you kept giving him when we were dancing together. So what is your assessment, Madame? Am I a threat to your position?"

They both kept a smile on their faces for the benefit of watching eyes. But there was no enmity between them. Only the assessment of a possible threat and self-preservation on the Duchess's part.

"Have no fear, Madame. I am no stranger to looking the other way," Katherine answered for her. The dance ended. Madame d'Etampes inclined her head gracefully. "I have enjoyed our conversation, Your Majesty, and look forward to many more." With that she walked away, as haughty as ever. Katherine was almost sad to see her go, for she had been a distraction.

As the night had worn on, Katherine had almost forgotten. There was still a delicate matter to deal with... sharing a bed with Francis. She needed more wine.

* * *

A heavy feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach as her ladies undressed her until she was standing in nothing but her night shift. She wanted to get this night over with as quickly as possible. Lady Elizabeth, her loyal English lady-in-waiting, caught her eye and gave her a small, warm smile intended to comfort, but Katherine didn't have it in her to smile back, neither a genuine smile nor an empty, polite one. She took one last sip, or two, of wine from the goblet offered to her and steeled herself for the night ahead, as she was ceremoniously escorted to the King's bedchamber. Francis was already there when she arrived, wearing only his night shirt, along with the priest and members of the King's retinue. She avoided eye contact as the priest blessed the marriage bed and they were put to bed with great ceremony.

"Leave us," Francis commanded in a voice that allowed no room for protest. Her ladies, and his gentlemen departed, leaving them along together for the first time all evening. A heavy silence descended on the room as they sat stiffly side by side, both at a loss for words. They sat like this for a few moments until the silence became unbearable. Francis turned to look at her. The slight movement caused Katherine to turn her head in his direction. She looked up at him.

There was vulnerability in her blue eyes, a slip of that cool exterior and he could see the sad and lonely woman underneath and it touched him. Perhaps it was this vulnerability that moved him to lean forward and cup her face in his hands, brushing his finger along her jawline. She shivered beneath his touch. He wanted to say something but words would only ruin the moment. He leaned forward and captured her lips with his own. Her mouth tasted like strawberries and wine.

His mouth on hers wasn't an unpleasant feeling and Katherine felt herself respond, kissing him back. She had not been intimate with a man in a long time and she felt more alive now than she had felt in months. Her petite hands found his night shirt and began to pull it off him, as he hurried to help her out of her shift. Hands explored alabaster flesh, slowly at first, then more passionately. Her hands danced across his smooth, toned chest before she leaned closer, placing her mouth on his collarbone, trailing light kisses across it before moving up to his neck, his pulse beating wildly under her touch. She finally made her way to his handsome face. Their lips met once more, and this time their kiss was harder and more urgent, laced with desire. She pushed him back onto the bed and there was no hesitation or vulnerability now.


	4. A Slow Burn

_You may have whatever you want, if you will take the consequences- The White Queen (1x01)_

**The Next Day**

"Tell me about Madame d'Etampes, Marguerite."

The smell of roses overwhelmed Katherine's senses as she walked arm in arm with her sister-in-law, Marguerite of Navarre, in one of Fontainebleau's impeccable gardens. Their ladies trailed behind at a respectful distance, giving them some semblance of privacy. The scent brought to mind painful memories, of a past and a man she wanted to forget. Her sister-in-law detected the subtle change in her demeanor and gently tugged on her arm, shifting her attention back onto Marguerite.

Quick and clever Marguerite, with her sharp intelligence and infectious laugh. Katherine had warmed to the woman easily enough and when her sister-in-law had called upon her this morning to invite her for a walk in the gardens, she couldn't have refused. Not when Marguerite had gracefully swept into her chamber, fixing her piercing dark brown eyes onto her, eyes that resembled her brother's and smiled that smile of hers, one that made the recipient feel as if they were old friends and she had an intimate secret to share. So Katherine had reluctantly put aside her reservations about Marguerite's unsavory interest in the reform religion and had graciously accepted her offer. Besides, Marguerite of Navarre was a good ally to have on her side as she enjoyed a close relationship with Francis and had great influence with her brother. Even though she was married to Henri II of Navarre, a small kingdom on the border between France and Spain, she was a constant presence at the French court, and Katherine needed all the friends she could get.

In the peace of the rose garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature, and the delicate artwork of the statues that stood immobile, like marble sentries, throughout the garden they had walked leisurely, and talked about their mutual interest in great literature, steering well away from any talk of religion.

"Everything you need to know about Madame d'Etampes can be summed up with my next words. One day Francis returned early from the hunt to find Madame d'Etampes in bed with another, a young nobleman. Francis pretended the lady was one of Madame's maids and had the nobleman arrested for molesting the maiden.* This delightful incident had no impact on his relationship with Madame."

"Such a gentleman, my husband," Katherine quipped in a monotone voice.

Marguerite leaned in closer, her face serious. "Make no mistake, Katherine. Madame d'Etampes is an enemy. You must let go of the past and get closer to my brother."

Katherine searched her face. "Why are you telling me this?"

Marguerite's eyes were fixed onto hers. "I love my brother dearly but I do not approve of Madame d'Etampes' influence over him. He could use your patient guidance and wisdom." Marguerite saw the woman behind Katherine's stoic and polite facade clearly. She had closed off her heart and for that Marguerite could not blame her. She was a woman who had given her heart to her former husband completely, only to watch him turn away from her after so many years together, their love thrown away, scattered like ashes in the wind. Katherine was no stranger to suffering and she had fought for so long that Marguerite wondered if she was tired of fighting. Perhaps in time the Queen would open her heart to her brother, and love could be the soothing balm to their suffering. But only time would tell.

Katherine looked away, her gaze landing on a rose bush in the distance, pondering on her sister-in-law's words. Perhaps Marguerite was right. There was no use dwelling on the past and while she may not want the man she could influence the King. She supposed she would see him the same way Madame d'Etampes saw him, as the King, a source of power, not seeing the man beneath the crown. The same way Anne Boleyn must have seen her husband. Former husband, she reminded herself firmly. If she was honest with herself, the thought pained her slightly, as she remembered his tenderness last night and his passion. But she was not ready to open her heart to another man. It was too soon. Katherine turned her head to face Marguerite again.

There is fight in her yet, Marguerite thought.

"What are the King's passions?"

Marguerite smiled.

* * *

Red hair flowing down a delicate, naked alabaster back danced before the King's eyes, the color not quite matching the red of Madame d'Etampes gown nor the red of the roses in Francis's impeccable garden, where only hours ago the subject of his daydream had walked down the same path he and Madame d'Etampes traveled on. The fragrant scent that had conjured up bittersweet memories in his wife filled his nose, the same sweet scent that lingered on his pillows. The light touch on his arm meant to get his attention made him recall another's lingering touch, that had served another purpose and had made his pulse beat wildly. The light touch on his arm increased in pressure, finally gaining his attention.

"You are distracted today, my love. Was your little Spanish wife pleasing?" Anne questioned, making sure to keep her tone light.

His Spanish wife. Katherine of Aragon was a mystery to him, with her polite smiles, elegant words and those blue eyes that betrayed nothing. Almost nothing, he corrected himself, remembering the vulnerability in her eyes last night and the sadness, a result no doubt of his "brother" Henry's actions. In contrast, he remembered her peaceful face this morning, sleeping soundly beside him, the sunlight streaming into the room had framed her pale face, giving her an almost angelic glow.

She unnerved him, if truth be told, with her iciness, the exact opposite of how women usually responded to him and her alarmingly accurate assessment of him. She could read him like an open book and it bothered him that he couldn't do the same.

"Perhaps," Francis responded with a laugh, the sound pleasing to the ears. "Does that make you jealous, Anne?" He teased, seeing the scathing look she shot him.

Jealousy wasn't quite the emotion Anne de Pisseleu was feeling at the moment, threatened was more accurate, protective, like a wolf guarding it's territory from newcomers, and the King was most certainly her territory. Oh, he may not be in love with the Queen but he was intrigued by her and she had no doubt in her mind that it was her he had been thinking of earlier and Anne had worked too hard to keep his attention to let him slip from her grasp. She would not, _could not_, let him dance to another woman's tune. She had come too far to let that happen and she would not fall now, not when she was at the pinnacle of her power.

She laughed. "I see she's made quite an impression on you. Do not deny it. But have you made an impression on her?"

She had his full attention now.

"She'll never see you as anything but an enemy. A Valois. Her loyalty will always be to other men; the Pope, the Emperor, but never to you," she said, watching his face intently as the seeds of doubt were planted, making Marguerite's earlier words seem prophetic.

_She'll never love you. _The words were left unsaid but the sentiment was understood all the same.

Francis took her arm as they continued down the path, bringing her hand up to his lips and placing a brief kiss there. "I do not require her love Anne, when I have yours."

Madame d'Etampes dipped her head briefly before smiling up at him. The movement was full of grace and allure.

She had him right where she wanted him and that was where he would stay. She would make sure of it.

* * *

"The time has come for us to part ways, ladies. Be sure to serve Queen Anne as well as you have served me."

Mary wondered if it pained her mother to call Anne Boleyn Queen as she stood by her side in the Queen's apartments,before their respective ladies-in-waiting, who were traveling back to England today, along with the rest of their English retinue, except for a handful of ladies who were to stay on in France. But if it did, she didn't let it show and for that Mary could not help but admire her mother. She was the strongest person Mary knew.

The ladies curtsied deeply to their former mistress and departed after Katherine's regal dismissal, all but Lady Salisbury, Mary's governess, who remained behind. She was leaving as well and that saddened her. Lady Salisbury had been like a second mother to her since childhood, strict and proper, but she knew that the older woman cared for her deeply. She would miss her greatly.

"It has been an honor serving you, Your Highness," Lady Salisbury addressed her, dipping her a curtsey.

Mary maintained her composure and in a break with protocol, embraced the older woman briefly. "You have been like a second mother to me, Lady Salisbury and I shall always keep you in my memory and my prayers," she said with all of her mother's dignity and grace.

"You must write to us often, Margaret, with news of England and your family," Katherine said, giving her old friend a warm smile.

After Lady Salisbury's departure, Mary and her mother went into the antechamber to enjoy each other's company at last. One of the Queen's French ladies, an elegant blonde, served them wine and sweets before quietly departing.

"How are you faring, Mary?" The last time Katherine had seen her daughter,at the wedding banquet, she had been cheerful, laughing and dancing with Prince Charles. Katherine wanted to be sure that Mary was truly doing well and that she had not been putting on a show of bravery and happiness for her sake. Mary paused for a moment, looking away from her mother's searching gaze.

She liked France well enough and found her new siblings to be delightful. They had shown her nothing but kindness, even if Francois and Henri were a bit reserved. She enjoyed having siblings, having been her parents' only child for so long. But she found herself longing for the familiar comfort of England and despite it all she missed her father. She remembered his warm embrace and his assurances of his love for her at their last meeting in England. But that was only scratching the surface.

"This is my fault," Mary began, not meeting Katherine's eyes.

"What is your fault?" Katherine questioned gently, concern evident in her voice.

Mary finally met her mother's eyes. "None of this would have happened had I been the prince my father desires. You would still be married to Papa and you would be happy," she said quietly. Her words were a stab to Katherine's heart and she had to fight the tears that had sprung up at her daughter's confession. She leaned forward and enveloped Mary into her arms.

"My sweet girl, none of this is your fault. Do not blame yourself Mary and do not concern yourself with my happiness. I would make this decision again, if only to assure _your _happiness," Katherine said, tightening her embrace and running her hand down her daughter's back soothingly.

"This is God's will, Mary. Do not worry about my happiness. Your happiness is my only priority." Mother and daughter stayed like this for a few moments, regaining their composure, and whether in England or France there was nothing like the comfort of her mother's love and her reassuring words to bring Mary peace.

* * *

**That Night**

The card game Katherine was playing with one of her French ladies-in-waiting was proving to be a pleasant distraction from her melancholy thoughts and the fact that she was winning only served to lighten her mood further. The privy chamber was alive with the sound of feminine laughter as ladies-in-waiting chatted amongst themselves, talking of the latest court gossip, some reading quietly or playing chess. Her daughter's confession from earlier that day was still fresh in her mind. She had thought about it all through dinner with the court, only halfheartedly carrying on a conversation with the King. It had pained her to hear those words from Mary, that she blamed herself for their situation and for the annulment. She only wanted her daughter to be safe and happy. She had no doubt in her heart that Mary would have made a fine Queen of England someday had Henry accepted her as his heir. She was a smart girl and Katherine was fiercely proud of her for her strength and composure. She was a true granddaughter of Isabella and Ferdinand. Katherine would have to keep a closer eye on her. Her attention shifted from the game at hand to the petite brunette that had come to a standstill before her and curtsied.

"Madame, His Majesty is here," the young woman announced. Katherine rose to her feet and her ladies followed as Francis strode in. They all sank into curtsies at his arrival.

"Rise, ladies," He said with a quick smile, his eyes finding Katherine's. He had come to check up on his wife, having noted her distraction at dinner and the way her gaze had kept straying to the Princess Mary.

"Your Majesty, this is a pleasant surprise," Katherine said. It wasn't entirely a lie. She gestured to the recently vacated seat at the card table. "Would you care to join me for a game of cards?"

"Only if you promise to call me Francis. There is no need to be formal, Katherine." He took the seat opposite hers, as Katherine returned to her own seat.

"Very well, Francis," her lips said his Christian name but in her mind he would remain the King. She needed that distance. They settled into a companionable silence as Katherine shuffled and dealt the cards.

"How is Mary?" He asked, breaking the silence as he laid down a card.

A pause.

Katherine looked down briefly before meeting his gaze. "She blames herself for the annulment. For not having been born a prince," she answered quietly, not entirely knowing what had possessed her to tell him that. Maybe it was something in his eyes. A softness.

"Mary is a strong girl. She will adjust in time."

Her move in the game.

"Perhaps that is better then her blaming you." Katherine could detect a trace of bitterness in his tone. She knew what he was thinking of. His sons.

She was moved to reach a hand across the table, finding his own and giving it a comforting squeeze. They locked eyes.

"It is not your fault. Your sons' imprisonment. You had no choice. No realistic choice."

Silence.

A suffocating tension filled the room as Katherine's silent ladies-in-waiting watched the scene with interest. It was as if they were playing a game of their own. They were dancing around the personal, the private. The intimate matters of the heart that one might tell a lover. It was a game of who would pull away first. One step forward, two steps back. In the silence that had settled over the room Katherine was tempted to push him further, to ask about Pavia and his own imprisonment. What did it feel like to have found himself at the Emperor's mercy, on that fated day? But that was too personal. Too close to the man and she needed the distance that was the King.

It would be Francis who pulled away first.

"Your niece Eleanor was rather taken with me, in Spain, after my release from imprisonment." An abrupt change in topic, anything to lighten the heaviness that had seeped into their conversation as they continued their game.

Katherine raised a shapely eyebrow. "Was she? I can understand the appeal. No doubt it was your charm and good looks that won her over."

"You flatter me."

A smile curved her lips. Those lips that tasted like strawberries and wine.

"I thought flattery was the way to a Frenchman's heart," she teased. She was winning the card game.

The statement had been lighthearted but it brought to mind Anne's words in the garden. _She will never see you as anything but an enemy. A Valois. _

Katherine noted the slight change in his expression. She had struck a nerve with her talk of hearts.

"Would you have preferred Eleanor to me?" She laid down another card, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

"I dare say she would have been more agreeable, warmer perhaps." The night wore on. Candles were lit.

"Perhaps she would have let you win this card game," Katherine quipped. The game had come to an end.

He laughed. The mood had finally lightened. Francis rose to his feet, Katherine following. "I should bid you good night, Katherine," he said, locking eyes with her.

She looked at him.

She found she had enjoyed his company, surprisingly.

_You must get closer to my brother. _Marguerite's words came to her.

She found herself moving closer towards him, giving in. She whispered the one word he had not expected to hear.

"Stay."

* * *

*Source: _Catherine de Medici: Renaissance Queen of France _by Leonie Frieda


	5. Closer to You

**Warning: Sexual Content**

* * *

"Stay."

The word caught Francis off guard as he searched Katherine's face to make sure his ears had not deceived him.

They had not. She was still watching him, waiting.

He had not expected to hear that word come from Katherine of Aragon's lips. But it had and the look in her eyes prompted him to action. He tore his gaze away from his wife, settling on her ladies-in-waiting, who were silently watching the scene with great interest.

"Leave us," he forced the command from his throat, swallowing thickly. It was delivered in a low but firm tone. The ladies obeyed with no hesitation, dropping into curtsies before departing, careful to hide their disappointment at the dismissal.

Now that they were alone, Katherine hesitated, lowering her eyes. She too was surprised at her own actions and was suddenly unsure of herself now. She felt Francis's gaze on her face again and forced herself to look up at him. He reached a hand out and gently enclosed his hand around her own. There was a silent reassurance to the gesture as they both made their way to her bedchamber door. Katherine pulled away first, stepping into the room before him. She was careful to hide the many emotions coursing through her at the moment. Francis followed her, closing the door softly behind them, his eyes watching her. He came up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder, before working his way up to her veil, brushing the thin fabric to the side, before doing away with her hood, her auburn hair tumbling down onto her shoulders as it was freed from its confines. She felt a shiver go down her spine as his fingers slowly trailed down to the laces of her gown.

"You are beautiful," Francis murmured, sweeping her hair to one side and brushing his lips against the delicate skin of the back of her neck, goosebumps breaking out over her skin, before Katherine stepped out of the first layer of clothing. Those were words she needed to hear, had not heard from Henry in a long time as his attentions had wandered elsewhere over time. Francis ignored the gown pooled on the floor next to him, shifting it out of the way with his foot. He began to work on the laces of Katherine's corset. She stood still as he worked, her only movement was the slight nervous twitch of her hands at her sides. She did not know why she felt this way. They had done this before after all, but this time was different.

"Thank you," she said, the words Your Majesty were on the tip of her tongue before she remembered. "Francis."

She sent a quick glance over her shoulder at him, catching his smile as her lips had said his name. Laces untied, Katherine was freed from the confines of her corset as it was peeled away. She was left standing in nothing save her chemise, before that too was done away with. Standing naked before her husband, Katherine finally turned to face him, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks despite herself. It was her turn to undress him.

Delicate fingers began to work at the buttons of his doublet, anticipation building in the pit of her stomach. His anticipation was also building as he caught her eye, silently urging her to work faster. She helped him out of the doublet, discarding it carelessly onto the floor, before removing the shirt underneath, revealing his toned chest. Katherine stepped back a moment, admiring him before she removed the rest of his clothing. Both free of that obstacle, Francis took her hand again, leading her to the great four poster bed that dominated the chamber. Laying her down on the bed gently and settling beside her, he leaned down and captured her mouth with his own. Katherine responded, deepening the kiss, a fire beginning to burn in the pit of her stomach. After a moment, Francis broke away, breathing heavily. He studied her lovely face, the desire dancing in her eyes. He wanted to take her then and there but he would take his time and go slowly, as if her body were the altar before which he would worship.

He began by tracing the outline of her lips, as if he were committing them to memory, working his way leisurely to her jawline, tracing the delicate bones there with his thumb, then his mouth. He dipped his head into the curve of her neck, placing light kisses along the smooth alabaster skin, before applying pressure. Katherine gasped as he moved to the side of her neck, gently nipping the tender skin there with his teeth. He lingered there a moment before trailing to her collarbone. Her skin was warm beneath his lips as her body temperature rose, giving her skin a rosy blush.

Francis continued his exploration of her body, moving down to her chest, brushing his lips over her creamy breasts, first one than the other, teasing her nipples with his tongue. She squirmed beneath his touch. He continued, trailing kisses over her abdomen, on the curves of her hips with singular determination and focus, continuing lower still...his mouth coming to a stop at the wet mound between her legs. It was a painfully tense moment before his tongue entered her. Katherine tossed her head back, her back arching, her fingers sinking into the silk sheets as she gripped them to keep from crying out. His tongue worked faster, and Katherine gripped the sheets tighter as a sensation began to build inside her. Francis abruptly stopped his ministrations, ever the cruel tease.

He lifted his head from between her legs, a self-satisfied smirk forming on his handsome face as a whimper escaped from Katherine. He settled in between her legs, gently spreading them apart, his hands resting on her thighs. They locked eyes as the King entered her, a moan working its way from Katherine's throat but Francis was quicker, leaning in and capturing it with his mouth, like it was his prize.

Katherine closed her eyes, drinking in the feeling of him inside her as Francis began to thrust. She tasted delicious, that taste of strawberries and wine. Intoxicating. Katherine pulled away, moving her face to the side of his neck, her mouth next to his ear. She moaned as a spasm shot through her, her body tensing. The sound was melodious, pleasing to Francis's ears. She wanted him to remember the sound of her moans in his ear, the feel of her beneath him, the taste of her, when he closed his eyes at night, when he was alone, when he was with his mistress. He moved his head over to look at her as he continued to move.

"Does that feel good?" He pondered aloud, watching the various emotions play out on her face.

Katherine's hand moved slowly to his face, cuffing his cheek. Their eyes met. Her only response was a small smile curving her lips, her arms then coming around him. Her fingernails dug into his back, prompting Francis to dive deeper inside his Queen. Tilting her head backward, a moan escaped from her throat as she closed her eyes, a sensation washing over her. She relaxed her grip on his back.

Francis's body shuddered as he released inside her, caught up in his own euphoric haze. They were breathing heavily, their bodies warm and slick with sweat. Francis retreated from his position, gently shifting her legs back into place. Katherine's arms dropped back onto the bed, Francis settling himself next to her. A small smile was playing on her lips as she found the blanket, covering them both before settling into Francis's open arms, his face nuzzling into the warm curve of her neck, breathing in the scent of roses and sweat.

* * *

**A Week Later..**

The sound of music and feminine laughter drifting out from the royal nursery into the hall might have been heartwarming to the casual passerby as it alluded to the merriment of the royal children, but never was there a more lovely sight to behold than the thirteen-year old Princess Mary dancing, her long French sleeves and grey silk skirts swirling about her, her feet moving gracefully, delicately, in measured steps along with the merry tune. Beside her were the Princesses Madeleine and Marguerite, aged nine and six respectively, who had little trouble keeping up with their older step-sister as their dancing master showed them the steps to a popular French dance, their governess watching enthusiastically at a distance.

Though the ladies showed much focus in their task, the atmosphere was joyful, with frequent laughter heard, the melody mingling with the music, until it almost became one entity. This was how the dancers' brothers, the eleven year old Francois, and the seven year old Charles, found the royal daughters of France (and England). The princes waited for the dance to end before approaching their siblings.

"Sisters, that was lovely dancing," Charles greeted, placing a kiss on each of his sisters' cheeks in turn, Mary leaning down to his level so he could reach her cheek. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, the little prince was every bit as charming as his father, even at a young age.

"Thank you, brother," Mary said graciously with a smile, looking past him at Francois, who lingered behind. Dressed in black despite the summer heat, he was like a somber shadow in contrast to the bright cheerfulness of his younger brother. He was fair, with closely cropped light brown hair, said to resemble his mother Queen Claude in appearance. The little boy Mary had once been betrothed to as a child, the one she had pushed to the ground after he had refused her kiss had been emotionally scarred by his Spanish captivity and was frequently found in the company of his brother Henri, who had shared the same fate. Mary was determined to help him out of his shell.

"Come, Francois. Dance with me," Mary said kindly, extending her hand out to him in invitation, her dark grey eyes sparkling with amusement. He hesitated a moment before reluctantly clasping her hand as she lead him into the dance. Their siblings watched them with curiosity and amusement before Charles lead both of his sisters into their own triumvirate dance.

"Tell me brother, how are your studies going?" Mary questioned as they danced. Francois had become more studious since his return to France.

"Very well. I am studying Latin, Greek and the ancient classics. My tutor says I am making great progress," Francois replied, happy to talk about his studies.

"I am glad to hear it," Mary replied, her lips curving into a smile. Francois gave her a small smile in return. She was about to ask him more when a feminine voice interrupted.

"Having a party without me?"

The music stopped abruptly. The royal children's gazes traveled to the source of the interruption. It was the Queen, her lips upturned into a warm smile. The room's inhabitants dropped into curtsies and bows upon her entrance.

The scene she had witnessed warmed her heart. She was glad to see Mary getting along with her step-siblings, and that she was enjoying herself, the memory of her daughter's confession to her coming to the forefront of her mind. She was especially proud of her for reaching out to the reserved Francois. Her eyes scanned the room, noting the absence of Henri. She suppressed the sigh that rose up within her.

"I see that you are enjoying yourselves. Where is your brother, Henri?"

"Playing tennis, avoiding Father, as usual," came young Charles's short reply.

"We shall have to remedy that. Now I believe it is time for your lessons, Madeleine, Marguerite," Katherine said, looking at the two young girls. She was fond of all of Francis's children but she was particularly charmed by his daughters; the delicate Madeleine, who had never enjoyed the best of health, although she was doing well for now, who was always in good spirits despite her frequent illnesses, and little Marguerite, who at six years old was already showing a lively intellect, very much resembling her namesake and aunt, Marguerite of Navarre.

"Will you be here when we return?" Madeleine asked her, as their governess came to stand behind the two young princesses, to escort them to the schoolroom.

Katherine kneeled down in front of her, getting down to her level. "I will, my little princess. I will be waiting for you when you return, and I will tell you stories of my childhood at Alhambra. Would you like that?" Katherine questioned, looking at Marguerite, who nodded along with her sister. Katherine smiled as she watched their governess take both girls by the hand and lead them away. She turned her attention back to the rest of her children.

"Carry on with your merriment. I will return in a moment." She turned to leave, catching their obeisance in the corner of her eye before she walked away, on her way to find Henri...

She found him where Charles said he would be, on the tennis court, in the middle of a competitive and heated game against one of his friends, a slight blonde-haired boy, not much older than Henri. She found a discreet place to watch the game without being noticed. The ten-year old Henri looked to be winning. Since his return to France he was often found to be playing sports. A way to vent his deeply buried emotions, Katherine supposed. She watched the usually reserved young prince come alive. Color rose in his fair cheeks as he played, laughter occasionally spilling out from him, echoing around the tennis court. It lingered in the air a moment, ringing in Katherine's ears, as if to preserve such a rare sound, coming from the young boy's lips. But it was his eyes that transfixed her to the spot. They were sparkling with emotion, fleeting contentment swimming in the dark irises, the same ones that usually displayed his sadness, his pain. She wanted to preserve this moment, to always see him like this, a young prince in the spring of his life, carefree, the way he must have been before Spain.

Most of all she wanted Francis to see his son like this, with sparkling eyes, alive with life. With joy. Not the dead, empty eyes that he turned upon his father, that must plague the King with guilt. As she continued to watch she vowed to herself that she would do everything in her power to make it happen.

* * *

Restless.

That was how Katherine was feeling, as she flicked through the pages of the book in her hands, an agitated, restless energy coursing through her. After she had slipped away quietly from the tennis court she had returned, as promised, to the children's nursery, where she had spent time with Madeleine and Marguerite. Afterwards she had returned to her chambers, where her duties as the Queen of France had occupied her time and her thoughts. But now that her time was free, her mind was also free to wander and reflect upon the emotions she had felt watching Henri play tennis. But the Queen didn't want to think anymore. As she fidgeted in her seat, drawing the attention of one of her ladies sitting nearby, an elegant blonde, she gave up on reading and closed the book she had been trying to read for the past twenty minutes to no avail. Katherine had the sudden urge to go horseback riding, a pastime she had not indulged in for some time. She could almost feel the wind on her face, as she imagined herself sitting atop her horse, her heart racing as she urged the horse on faster. She knew the exercise would do her some good.

Katherine turned to the elegant blonde sitting nearby. "Do you ride, Madame?" The lady's name almost escaped her, before she remembered. The elegant, slightly aloof beauty was Diane de Poitiers, the wife of Louis de Breze, the Grand Seneschal of Normandy, a man much older than the lady herself.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I ride out daily," Diane replied, inclining her head respectfully.

Katherine smiled at her. "Then you shall accompany me. I could use the exercise."

"I would be honored to, Your Majesty." Another elegant dip of the head.

Acquiring her acquiescence, Katherine called for her other ladies to help her change into her riding habit. Suitably dressed for riding in her purple habit, the color marking her as royalty, her auburn hair bound into a pearl-studded snood, she dismissed the rest of her ladies, who curtsied and scurried away.

With Diane following slightly behind her, the two women left the chateau and made their way to the stables. Upon their arrival they were greeted by a young stable hand, who bowed. Katherine instructed him to prepare their horses, choosing to use the side-saddle she had brought from England, in place of the sambue, the sideways armchair that French ladies used, which was perched on the horse's back. That would not do. It would only slow Katherine down and she wanted to ride fast and hard today. If this surprised Diane she did not show it. As they waited for their horses to be ready, Katherine heard voices approaching. She turned to catch sight of the King and Madame d'Etampes walking in their direction.

She would have winced had she been a lesser woman. In truth, she had been avoiding Francis's company since that night a week ago, contradicting her earlier determination to get closer to the King. Well, she had been _very _close to the King and that confused her greatly. That night had stirred up emotions, tenderness, towards him that she wasn't comfortable with. But she would have to put that aside in order to reunite Henri with his father.

"Katherine, what a pleasant surprise," Francis greeted upon spotting her. Madame d'Etampes dropped her a polite curtsey, barely concealing the fact that she wasn't happy to have run into her.

"Your Majesty." Katherine curtsied to him, Diane doing the same.

"Are you going riding? You should join us," Francis invited, watching her expression.

Katherine didn't miss a beat, even though the idea wasn't particularly appealing to her..

"Of course, Your Majesty. We would be honored to."

His lips curved into a smile, those lips she was well acquainted with, his eyes communicating a silent message. _Well played, _they seemed to say.

Their horses were brought out, grooms moving to help the party of four mount them. Settled atop her sambue, Madame d'Etampes looked over at Katherine, raising an eyebrow. "What is that, Your Majesty?" She motioned with her head to the side-saddle.

"A side-saddle, Madame. This is how Englishwomen ride, and with which I intend to keep up with His Majesty," Katherine answered, her eyes piercing into Francis.

He let out a laugh. "We shall see about that, Madame!" With that they were off, spurring their horses forward, into the woods beyond Fontainebleau.

They settled into a comfortable, leisurely pace, enjoying the quiet serenity of nature around them. The warmth of the sun on Katherine's face and neck was pleasant, the sounds of birds singing their melodies played in her ears. But there was disquiet inside her as she sensed Madame d'Etampes' unhappy presence on the horse behind her, next to Diane. She supposed the young woman wasn't thrilled about Katherine riding at Francis's side. It was only a matter of time before she let her unhappiness be known.

"Madame, the English ambassador tells me that Anne Boleyn has wed the King of England. I hope she can succeed where you have failed," Madame d'Etampes said. Katherine stiffened, gripping the reins tighter. She couldn't see her face but she could imagine the smirk playing upon her features.

"Anne.." the King began, a warning in his tone.

"I do hope that Queen Anne will like the wedding gifts the King and I sent her. She has the exquisite taste of a true Frenchwoman after all," Katherine uttered the carefully chosen words in a measured tone, her face impassive. The task had not been a pleasant one, but she had willed herself through it. Afterwards she had enclosed a handwritten letter, to be read by Anne Boleyn's eyes only. But she no longer wished to ponder on that matter...

The group lapsed into a tense silence after that. It was only broken by Madame d'Etampes' chattering with the King. Her high-pitched laughter at the King's jokes, which Katherine did not find amusing, was starting to irritate her. Their slow pace did nothing to calm Katherine's restlessness. She suddenly had an idea.

She turned to Francis. "I bet Your Majesty that I can beat you back to the stables. After all, Spaniards are the superior riders."

Francis laughed, amused but willing to take on the challenge. "I'll take that bet Madame, if only to disprove that claim. What is to be my prize?"

She smiled. "A kiss."

They locked eyes for a long moment.

"Then I shall make sure to win." He spurred his horse forward, taking off. Katherine took off after him, leaving Madame d'Etampes and Diane behind. She dug her heels into her horse, urging it to go faster. Her heart began to race as the horse complied, the wind nipping at her face. She felt alive, exhilarated, carefree as adrenaline pumped through her veins. It didn't even matter that she was losing. Her horse slowed as they neared the stables, coming to a stop before Francis, who was still atop his own dark grey horse.

"It seems you have proved me wrong, Your Majesty," she said, turning her head to watch Madame d'Etampes and Diane approach. Francis dismounted from his horse with an amused smile on his handsome face as grooms rushed out of the stables to help the ladies dismount. Francis approached her horse, helping her down from it.

"My prize, Madame."

In full view of Madame d'Etampes, Katherine stepped up to him, bringing a hand slowly up to cuff his cheek, the action reminiscent of the one she had done that night a week ago. As she looked into his eyes, she knew that he remembered. She leaned in slowly, watching his face as her lips brushed past his own, a ghost of a kiss, before she turned her head, a smirk playing upon her face. Francis blinked in surprise as he watched her walk away, the smirk still in place before the dignified mask slipped on. Katherine walked past Madame d'Etampes, Diane following behind her, an impassive shadow.

"Madame," she intoned, giving her the faintest incline of the head before the two women continued on their way back to the chateau. She could still feel the King's eyes on her as they walked away.

* * *

**A/N: **Historically, it is said that Catherine de Medici is the one who brought the side-saddle to France, but for the purposes of this story, I had Katherine be the one to introduce it. Next chapter we will be traveling to England to see how Henry and Anne Boleyn are faring. A special thank you to my best friend Amanda, for collaborating and helping me write that love scene, and thank you to all my lovely readers. I enjoy hearing your thoughts as always.


	6. You make this all go away

_In order to rise from its own ashes, a Phoenix first must burn_

_-Octavia E. Butler_

**August 1529, Whitehall Palace, England**

Shafts of sunlight streamed into the dining room, chasing away the shadows, almost playfully, as if they were two siblings running together, playing in a meticulous garden, the simplicity of their laughter and childish joy a contrast to their opulent surroundings, instead of the children of Mother Nature. Sunlight danced delicately across the neckline of Anne Boleyn's elegant gown, illuminating the pearls sewn there, bathing her long, fair, graceful neck in warm light lovingly, like a lover's gentle caress. Indeed, the way the light played upon her face gave her a heavenly glow. The anointed Queen of England looked radiant. Triumphant.

In contrast, playing the darkness to her radiance, her husband's handsome face was half-hidden in shadow, as he took a bite of meat from the plate before him. The royal couple ate in companionable silence for a few moments. Servants kept to the shadows of the room, silently waiting for a royal command, silently watching their royal master and mistress.

"Your Majesty, you seem distracted. Are you unwell?" Anne inquired, concern present in her tone. Her piercing, hypnotizing, blue eyes searched the King's face.

"Everything is well, sweetheart. I had an audience with the French ambassador today."

Anne stilled, her hand pausing around her wine goblet. She beckoned him to go further with her eyes.

"We discussed the possibility of a future trip to France, to present you officially as my Queen," Henry explained with an easy smile. Anne's own lips twitched into a smile in response. They locked eyes and in that moment both their thoughts had turned to the Queen of said country.

Henry recalled the audience he had had with the French ambassador a month ago, after he had wed Anne. The man had relayed the King and Queen of France's congratulations on his marriage, though Henry was sure that Katherine's had been a hollow one. His curiosity getting the better of him, he had asked His Excellency, in a monotone voice, what he thought about his new Queen.

The French ambassador had replied: _"She is everything a Queen should be." _He had then went on, praising Katherine's virtue, dignity and grace, mentioning what a majestic dancer the Queen was. That had caught Henry off guard. The Katherine he remembered had not danced in a long time, shunning that aspect of Court life as she got older, and as Henry's attentions began to wane. Then the man had uttered the words that still haunted Henry, despite himself: "_Her Majesty makes a fine dancing partner for His Majesty, King Francois. They are a lovely sight to behold together on the dance floor."_

Henry had visibly stiffened at that, his jaw clenched as anger had rushed through his veins. He had abruptly changed the subject after that. Now, as he looked at Anne, in his mind's eye he could see Katherine, as she looked in their youth, her auburn hair cascading down her back, blue eyes sparkling, her head tilted back in laughter as they danced together, the way they had once done.

For her part, Anne recalled the sealed letter that had arrived among the glittering jewels that were Katherine's wedding gifts to her. She had heard Katherine's low, resounding voice in her mind as she had read the letter, written in perfect French:

_Your Majesty,_

_I had debated long and hard with myself if I should write this letter to you in the first place. It still pains me to think of you and the King of England together, though that pain lessens day by day. I suppose this is my way of letting go of the past, or rather starting the process of letting go. I do not forgive you your past actions but perhaps, in time, I will. Mark my words carefully, Your Majesty, for I do not say them lightly. Now the whole of England shall be watching you, and the Court will note your every word and action. You will be under tremendous pressure to deliver a male heir and spare. I know that you are a passionate woman by nature but you are the Queen now; never show emotion in public. They must never see your weakness or your fear. Make allies at Court, not enemies. There may come a time when you will have need of them. Perhaps, the most difficult task of them all, is that you must turn a blind eye to the King's mistresses, while keeping a close eye on them. Jealousy will not help in that regard. It will only drive the King away from you. Above all, you must not let your love for the King blind you. Always remember that he may be your husband but he is your King and sovereign first. Keep these words in mind as you navigate the viper's nest that is Court, but you know that already surely. These words were said as a gesture of goodwill._

_May God bless you and keep you,_

_Katherine, Queen of France_

Anne had felt a mixture of emotions after she had finished reading the letter. She had felt shock that Katherine had written to her in the first place. Her pride had been prickled that Katherine had felt the need to advise her in the first place, as though Anne did not know the proper behavior of Queens. But after she saw the sense in her words she had felt a rush of gratitude toward the woman who had once been her rival. The two women had reached detente. The past between them no longer mattered.

Breaking out of her musings, Anne reached a hand out and enclosed her own around Henry's. Feeling the warmth of her flesh, the apparition dissipated and the image of the young, dancing Katherine faded from his mind.

"That is excellent news, Henry but I have news of my own."

Henry studied her, intrigued. His heart began to race. Was she going to tell him what he thought she was?

Anne's lips curved into a smile, her blue eyes sparkling with joy. "I am with child."

Laughter escaped from his throat. He squeezed Anne's hand gently before he rose from his seat to embrace her.

"Are you sure?"

"The midwife confirmed it this morning," Anne replied.

Henry squeezed her gently, delicately, bringing his arms around her closer, breathing in her scent.

"I will have Cromwell delay the plans for the trip to France until after the birth of our son," he said in her ear.

His only thoughts were of Anne and their son. Their golden prince, who would take after his father. The ghosts of the past were banished to memory.

* * *

**Château d'Amboise, France**

The French court was a study in elegant opulence as courtiers glided across the dance floor, decadence dripping from shining jewels, bright skirts swirling in the air, the rich fabrics a monument to wealth. Among it all, the Queen of France stood apart from the rest in her dark purple gown, as she went through the steps of the dance with her lady-in-waiting, Diane de Poitiers. Katherine felt that she had never danced so much in her entire life then she had in the past month, making it a point to go to every banquet that was held, involving herself in Court life as much as possible. She had learned from her past mistake in England to not isolate herself from the rest of the court. She had to be present, seen, aware of the various factions at court and whether they posed a threat to her.

As Katherine danced with Diane, her eyes alighted upon Madame d'Etampes dancing with the King. She could hear their laughter at a distance, ringing over the music. The image of Anne Boleyn dancing with a different King rose to mind before she willed it away.

"They look happy together. Do you agree, Madame?" She asked Diane in a measured voice.

The icy blonde followed the Queen's gaze, her face an impassive mask. They both looked away after a moment.

"They do. But not everything is what it seems, Your Majesty," Diane replied in a low voice.

Katherine raised a finely shaped eyebrow at this, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"There is gossip around court that Madame d'Etampes is not faithful to the King, and that she even had an affair with Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion, one of the King's close friends."

Katherine dipped her head elegantly, hiding a small smile before looking back up at the blonde, her face impassive.

"Does the King know about this?"

Diane made a turn in the dance. "I do not think so. The gossiping courtiers are careful not to say anything in front of His Majesty."

The elegant blonde regarded the Queen thoughtfully. "Forgive my forwardness, Your Majesty, but are you going to tell the King about the affair?"

Katherine smiled.

"Timing is everything, Madame."

With that the conversation ended and the two women changed partners. Katherine turned to find herself facing none other than the King himself. She felt her lips curving into a smile of their own volition.

"I knew I would find you eventually, Katherine," Francis said, giving her a smile in return as he took her hand and led her into the next dance. All eyes were on the royal couple.

"Your Majesty," Katherine said softly, "I did not think I was a hard woman to find."

"Indeed," he said, looking at her, "Your beauty stands out above the rest."

Katherine laughed, a charming sound. "You are a shameless flatterer, Your Majesty. But that is to be expected. You are French after all."

Francis smirked in response.

"Have I told you what a glittering court you preside over? Such lavish entertainments."

"_We_ preside over," Francis corrected, "It is part of my strategy."

Katherine raised an eyebrow, her eyes urging him to elaborate.

"Two things are vital for the French: to love their King and to live in peace; I amuse them and keep them physically active."

Katherine smiled. "Clever. You distract the nobles with pleasure to keep them at peace. I am impressed."

For all his flaws, Francis was every inch a king. Katherine was beginning to see that there was more substance to Francis then his libertine reputation suggested. As the royal couple danced, two courtiers watched the scene with interest from a distance. Anne de Montmorency, Grand Master of France, stood, wine goblet in hand, with Claude de Lorraine, the first Duke of Guise.

Montmorency tore his gaze away from the King and Queen, turning to the Duke. "What is your opinion of our fair Queen, Monsieur?"

the Duke of Guise glanced at Katherine and Francis a moment, before looking back at Montmorency. "She has many similarities with Queen Claude, God rest her soul. Kind, pious, compassionate."

the Grand Master nodded. "Indeed, she does. But Her Majesty is more public, more involved in Court life. She is a clever woman. Moreover, she has friends in high places; the Emperor, her nephew, the humanists Erasmus and Sir Thomas More."

"Do you think she can keep the peace with the Emperor?" the Duke asked, as both their gazes traveled back to the royal couple.

Montmorency paused.

"Who knows? But the Queen is someone to watch out for."

There was something akin to admiration in his voice.

* * *

**Later that night...**

During the day it was easy for Katherine to lose herself in the present. The ghosts of her former life loosened their hold on her mind and she could go about her routine in peace. It was at night, alone in her chambers, when her guard was down that her thoughts began to haunt her, holding her tighter and tighter in their invisible grasp, until she felt like she was drowning, and the cold waves of despair threatened to engulf her, pulling her deeper under into that silent, empty ocean of memory and regret.

Tonight was no different as the Queen sat still, staring into the orange and red flames of the fire that burned in the fireplace, sleep evading her. The pain of the past lessened day by day but sometimes, when she least expected it, it would flare up again, a sharp sensation in her chest. An image, a memory, would flash before her eyes as she turned in a dance, dissipating as quickly as it came, the impact no less deep and cutting. Katherine was so absorbed in her dark thoughts, the warmth of the fire doing nothing to melt the chill in her bones that she did not hear the click of the door as it opened and the masculine footsteps approaching quietly. The light touch on her shoulder made her jump slightly, as she turned in her armchair to look behind her.

"I did not mean to frighten you, Katherine. I apologize," Francis said by way of greeting. Katherine relaxed, taking in his appearance. He was dressed in his night attire, so he must have retired to bed already, but his eyes looked tired.

"Trouble sleeping, Francis?" Katherine asked softly, gesturing to the armchair beside her. He dipped his head in her direction before sinking into the armchair, a heavy sigh escaping from his lips.

"I could ask you the same." His dark eyes searched her face. He recognized the look in her eyes, the weariness she wore in the way her shoulders were set. He had worn that same heavy weariness, that same haunted look many nights himself.

Katherine stared into the tantalizing flames a moment before turning to him. "What is burdening you tonight?" She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew. They both sat in silence, eyes locked. The ice had thinned between them and there was a comforting familiarity in the silence that stretched ahead that had not been there before.

"Pavia." He looked away. There was no need to say more.

Katherine tilted her head downward slightly, a small, sad smile playing upon her features. Her hand, that had been resting on the armchair found his, curling around his slender fingers. She gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Tell me about it."

Francis squeezed her hand in return. "We met the Imperial troops in battle on February 24, 1525, in the Italian city of Pavia, after Milan fell to the Emperor in 1521. Both armies were evenly matched in number. I charged out into the open at the head of my bodyguard and cavalry in pursuit. This proved to be a mistake. We found ourselves at the mercy of hidden Imperial arquebusiers. My men and I found ourselves stranded from the rest of the troops and surrounded by Imperial soldiers. My horse was killed beneath me. I continued the fight on my feet, cutting Imperial soldiers down as my men died around me. Eventually, the fight was lost and the surviving nobles and I were taken prisoner," he explained in a low voice. Katherine could hear the bitterness in his tone.

She raised his hand in hers and brought it to her lips, trailing light kisses along his knuckles, before placing a kiss on his palm.

"You showed incredible bravery, Francis, fighting to the bitter end. That is to be admired."

His lips curved into a smile as he looked at her. He was touched by her words. Francis leaned in closer, placing a kiss on her temple, his lips lingering there a moment.

"Your compassion is touching, Katherine. You remind me of my first wife, Claude, in that regard," he whispered against her warm skin.

Katherine closed her eyes, inhaling his scent. "She was a good woman," she paused, her eyes fluttering open. "You do not remind me of Henry at all."

Francis stilled, his breath hitching. He leaned back to look Katherine in the eyes. Henry. The ghost that haunted their marriage, that haunted Katherine's thoughts. Francis wondered how she could love such a man, who had publicly humiliated her to set her aside for a younger woman. Searching her face, he realized he knew the answer. The mask Katherine wore was peeling away to reveal the woman underneath. He could see that Katherine was a woman who loved wholeheartedly. She loved Henry for himself. She loved the man, and the King, regardless of his many flaws. She accepted him for who he was and loved him heart and soul and that took Francis's breath away.

"Do you still love him?"

He found that even though he had asked the question he did not want to know the answer. Silence fell and descended upon them, for what felt like an eternity to Francis. Katherine held his gaze. Finally she spoke.

"No."

Francis let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding.

"But the past will not let go of me. I have found that memory has a way of clinging to you," she said, her voice cracking, her self control slipping.

"I keep replaying Henry's coldness, his anger, in my mind, over and over."

She paused, looking at Francis with such naked pain in her eyes that he felt a sharpness in his chest. Then her self control shattered, like a glass slipping through someone's delicate fingers. Tears rose, unbidden from the depths of her soul, and spilled from her eyes, like raindrops dripping from the sky.

"Am I so unloveable?"

Before he could answer, Katherine's tears turned into sobs, that came faster and harder, until her frame was shaking. Francis moved to action, gathering his wife into his arms, rocking her gently as she sobbed into his chest, kissing her head as he whispered words of comfort in her ear, soothing her.

In Francis's arms, the past washed away. She found the strength to swim in those waves, breaking the surface and coming up for air in that deep, cold ocean of despair that had threatened to engulf her whole. She felt safe. At peace.

As Katherine's sobs died down, her husband rubbed her back gently. She kept her face buried in his warm chest as a cutting clarity came over her. When had she started to think of him, not as the King, but simply Francis, her husband?

* * *

**A/N: **Source used: Catherine de Medici: Renaissance Queen of France by Leonie Frieda

Sorry for the long wait, I was suffering from writer's block. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Reviews are love, they motivate me. I appreciate all the ones I have gotten thus far.


	7. Requiem for an illusion

**Two weeks later...**

"The Dauphin is making great progress. No doubt due to Princess Mary's attention and kindness."

The apt observation left Marguerite of Navarre's lips, the sound traveling through the crisp morning air to her sister-in-law's ears, piquing the Queen's interest under the brilliant, picturesque blue sky, one that some mediocre poet might compare to the color of Katherine's eyes or the blue of her silk gown if they were to immortalize the idyllic picnic that the two women were enjoying in a meadow some distance away from the Château d'Amboise. They were not alone. Indeed, they were in the good company of the royal children, Katherine's gaze traveling in their direction.

She watched as Mary picked flowers with her stepsisters, twisting them into crowns and placing them onto her sisters' heads. Francois made a flower crown himself, stepping up to Mary and placing it on her auburn head with great ceremony, as if crowning her Queen. A blush crept across her daughter's cheeks, giving her fair complexion a rosy tint. Charles, ever the mischievous little prince, snatched the flower crown from his sister Marguerite's head, running off with it, her indignant protests falling on deaf ears as the little girl chased after him, his laughter and her impatient cries echoing around the meadow.

"Charles, give it back!" Marguerite demanded of her brother as the playful chase continued.

"Come and get it!" Charles replied. The flower crown was only safely nestled on its inhabitant's head again when Henri, who had been reading quietly by himself, had set aside his book and intervened, saving his sister's flower crown, like a chivalrous knight defending his Queen's crown from the enemy.

After watching the innocent, childish scene, Katherine turned to her sister-in-law with a smile from her place on the blanket spread out beneath the two women.

"Indeed, my dear Marguerite, Francois is coming out of his shell. I have never seen him so relaxed and light-hearted. I think Mary is doing well and that she does not long for England as much as before."

Marguerite returned the smile, taking a bite of a strawberry from the basket of fruits they had brought with them. "And you? Do you long for England?"

Katherine let out a laugh. "You and your brother, the King, always asking such piercing questions, with those piercing gazes of yours."

Marguerite tilted her head slightly, a smirk forming on her face, her eyes locked with the Queen's. Katherine dropped her gaze after a moment, looking away, out into the meadow where the children played. She had told Marguerite about that night where she had broken down in Francis's arms two weeks ago. Her sister-in-law had become something like a confidant to her and she found she could trust her with her emotions and vulnerabilities, which Katherine did not share easily.

That night she had opened up to her husband had been a moment of weakness, of vulnerability, but she found that she was starting to trust and respect him despite herself, almost unwillingly. She could not help but be drawn to him. Maybe she was even opening her heart to him, if only a little. That revelation made her uncomfortable, so she distanced herself from him again. But Katherine had meant what she had told him, that she no longer loved Henry. The man she had loved had changed long ago, but she was still nursing the wounds that Henry had opened up. The pain he had caused her with his betrayal had not fully faded away yet. Henry had made her doubt herself with his coldness, had made her feel unlovable when he had set her aside for a younger woman, but she was slowly regaining her confidence back with every passing day in France.

The Queen looked back at Marguerite, her face open and relaxed. "No, I do not long for England. I am beginning to feel content here."

A smile curved her sister-in-law's lips as she reached over and squeezed her hand, lightly and briefly, her dark eyes sparkling.

"I am glad to hear it, Katherine. It is good to see you taking my advice and trying to let go of past hurts."

Katherine took a bite of fruit absentmindedly, basking in the warmth of the sun on her face, the children's high-pitched laughter ringing in her ears pleasantly, like the sounds of spring,when the birdsong made the air come alive with life and music, after a long, quiet winter. "I wrote to Anne Boleyn a month ago."

The strawberry that had been making its ascent to Marguerite's mouth was stilled in mid-air as Marguerite glanced at the Queen sharply, her eyebrow rising in surprise, a hint of admiration dancing in her gaze.

"What did you write?"

Katherine looked down at her hands, the rings on her fingers caught the light, shining tantalizingly.

"I advised her on the ways of being a Queen and a wife and above all to not let sentiment blind her," she replied softly, looking back up at the Queen of Navarre.

Marguerite's lips tugged upward into a smile full of admiration and approval. Her sister-in-law was a truly dignified woman. She did not know many women who would give sound advice to their former rival, to the woman who had taken their place in their husband's heart.

"That is truly admirable, Katherine. Let us hope that Anne Boleyn takes your advice. Now, tell me, how does the situation with Madame d'Etampes fare?"

Katherine had to suppress the sigh that threatened to escape from her lips at the mention of Anne de Pisseleu.

"I try to ignore her as much as possible but it is only a matter of time before she makes the first move. I know about her affair with the Admiral de Brion," Katherine answered in a low voice as she caught Madeleine approaching them out of the corner of her eye.

"Tread carefully with Anne de Pisseleu, Katherine," Marguerite warned as the conversation came to an end with Madeleine's approach. Katherine turned to the little girl, and as she took in her appearance worry lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. Madeleine's fair complexion was unusually pallid this morning and Katherine was anxious about her step-daughter's delicate health.

"Madeleine, are you unwell?" Katherine asked in concern, reaching out and feeling the Princess's forehead. She was warm. Madeleine simply nodded her head and stepped into Katherine's embrace, putting her arms around her and nuzzling her head on the Queen's shoulder.

"We should head back to the château," Marguerite suggested and Katherine nodded in agreement. As Marguerite called the rest of the royal children to them and with Madeleine nestled safely in her arms, a heavy feeling of unease and anxiety gripped Katherine in that moment and stayed with her as they traveled back to Amboise.

* * *

**The King's Apartments**

Anne de Pisseleu's mind wandered as the King kissed the side of her neck. She replayed the Queen's coronation in her mind, again and again, a single detail always coming back to her. It had taken place a week ago, at the Cathedral Basilica of . Katherine had looked every inch a Queen in her magnificent robe of green-blue velvet, embroidered with fleur-de-lys in gold thread, the diamonds, rubies and pearls on her bodice sparkling tantalizingly when they caught the light, her royal mantle edged with ermine, her steps poised and regal. The details of the rest of the ceremony escaped her, lost in the retelling, except those of that moment that now obsessively haunted her.

Katherine had knelt at the altar, her face somber and impassive, for the anointing, the Cardinal smudging the holy oil upon her forehead and chest, placing the ring on her slender finger that married her to the kingdom of France. On her glittering throne, with the sceptre in one hand and the 'main de justice' in the other, the crown was placed on her auburn head, replaced almost immediately by a lighter crown and looking regally out at the crowd of courtiers and dignitaries, Anne could have sworn there had been a brief moment when their eyes had met, a hint of a challenge and triumph dancing in those blue eyes and a shiver had shot up her spine, but perhaps she was reading something in that faintest glance that had not been there.

The King's light kisses became harder, laced with desire and hunger, and Anne let out a laugh, melodic and self-satisfied. She still had a hold over him despite his increasing closeness with the Queen. Madame d'Etampes knew all about their late-night encounter. In Court the walls had eyes and nothing remained secret for long. Details became sharper and clearer with the exchange of money and Anne was not afraid to utilize every resource at her disposal to get the upper hand over the Queen. The young woman still burned with rage when she thought about that move Katherine had pulled at her expense when they had gone riding together months ago. Her pride was too great to suffer such a slight in silence and one that had occurred in front of her royal lover as well.

Speaking of her royal lover, the King paused his attentions on her neck, looking at her in curiosity. She looked back at him from her place on his lap, where they both sat behind his desk, giving him a wide smile.

"Is something amusing, Anne?"

She got up from his lap, the smile still in place, and went to stand behind him, her hands going to his shoulders and resting there.

"I was just thinking about something one of your wife's ladies told me," she said, beginning to rub his shoulders.

His wife. The mention of Katherine made him slightly uncomfortable. Francis did not want to discuss his wife with his mistress. He had not spent much time alone with Katherine since that night she had opened up to him and had broken down in his arms. It had almost become a habit with them, it seemed, to put distance between them after becoming closer, as if they were not fully comfortable with that emotional closeness afterward, having to pull away again, and more often than not, it was the Queen that pulled away first. Francis was touched that she had trusted him enough to show him her vulnerabilities and her pain. He found that he wanted to ease the pain that Henry had caused her.

"And what did she tell you?"

Anne stilled her hands, leaning in close, her mouth next to his ear. "Only that the Queen has been corresponding with the Emperor."

Francis shrugged, nonchalantly. "He is her nephew. I suppose that gives them something to talk about."

"We both know the Emperor has spies at Court," she breathed in his ear, her voice low.

Francis turned in his seat to look at her, his face serious. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Madame d'Etampes leaned back, touching his shoulder briefly before she began to pace in front of his desk, his eyes following her. She stopped, her eyes piercing into his own. "Her Majesty wrote to Queen Anne in England as well."

Silence followed after the words left her lips. That was a surprise. Why would Katherine write to the woman that had stolen her husband?

"Who will the Queen write to next? The King of England?"

"Anne, that is-"

The conversation was interrupted by the frantic entrance of a page boy, breathing heavily, his face pale. He stopped in front of the desk the King was seated at as both Francis and Anne looked at him expectantly. He bowed hurriedly.

"Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, Madame. I have urgent news."

Anne narrowed her eyes at the boy, impatient. "Go on. Speak, boy."

A pause. The page boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Her Highness, Princess Madeleine is gravely ill, Your Majesty."

Francis sat paralyzed in his seat, feeling like the air had been sucked from his lungs as a gasp escaped from Madame d'Etampes, her hand flying to her mouth dramatically. After the feeling had returned to his limbs, Francis rose from his seat, his movements hurried, yet still graceful, his anxiety rising with each breath he breathed in and exhaled.

"Stay here, Anne," he managed to say, his mouth dry. She looked at him in concern, reaching an arm out. It was meant to be a comforting gesture but Francis could barely feel her hand on his, as he hurried away to the children's nursery, their earlier conversation already forgotten. Anne de Pisseleu was left standing in front of his writing desk, watching his departing form.

* * *

The walk to the royal children's nursery was a blur to Francis. He could only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Indeed, in his anxious daze he did not realize he had reached his destination until he came upon his daughter's chamber where his family had gathered. His sister turned at his approach, her face somber. She left her place by her niece's bedside and approached where he stood.

Marguerite placed a hand on her brother's shoulder gently, as if he was unsteady on his feet and she would be his anchor, to keep him from falling, to keep him grounded.

"She has a high fever. The doctors are doing everything in their power to help her but she is in God's hands now," she said, her voice low. He heard her words, understood their meaning but he felt a numbness beginning to spread like wildfire over his entire being. He felt like he was floating, as if his body was not his own. He may have nodded, he was not exactly sure, but his feet began to carry him forward, towards his daughter's bedside where the rest of his children and his stepdaughter were gathered. They silently parted so he could stand at the edge of the bed. The somber figure seated by his daughter's bed, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water and tenderly, carefully, applying it to Madeleine's sweat-soaked forehead stilled at the sound of his footsteps and turned to look at him.

Katherine's blue eyes pierced into his as they locked eyes for a moment, then they softened and he could detect the sympathy in her gaze. Her calm air, only slightly tinged with anxiety, was comforting, a soothing balm to his fear and numbness. Francis was only dimly aware of the people around them and he could not quite recall being offered a seat next to Katherine's until he found himself sitting. His eyes shifted to the silent figure of his little girl on the bed as he took in her appearance; her complexion was pallid, sweat soaking her brow, her eyes were closed and her breathing labored. His sweet, delicate Madeleine. His little girl. He could not lose her.

"Let me do that, Katherine," he said softly, indicating that he wanted the wet cloth in her hand. She passed it to him, her fingers brushing against his, a whisper of a touch, before Francis caught her hand in his, gently, intertwining their fingers. He craved, no, needed the concreteness of her soft flesh against his. She was real, anchoring him in reality as he felt that floating sensation again.

"Trust in God's mercy," was all she said, holding his gaze and that was all she needed to say. Her presence beside him was enough.

"Thank you," he whispered, bringing their intertwined fingers to his lips and kissing her slender fingers before letting go of her hand. The King gripped the wet cloth in his hand tightly and rose from his seat, kneeling by Madeleine's bed, bringing the cloth to her forehead as he whispered soothing words to her. Katherine squeezed his shoulder briefly before she too rose from her seat, her eyes meeting those of her sister-in-law as she silently signaled for them to leave the King alone.

Marguerite gathered the royal children and they silently departed, leaving the King and the royal physicians to tend to Madeleine. Once they left Madeleine's chamber, little Marguerite tugged on Princess Mary's sleeve, Francois, Charles and Henri coming to a stop behind her. Mary looked softly down at her stepsister. "What is it, Marguerite?" She asked kindly.

The petite, dark-haired child looked up at her sadly, with a grave expression on her fair little face. "Madeleine is going to die, isn't she?"

Mary, Charles and Francois remained silent. It was Henri who spoke first.

"Have faith sister that she will not," he said quietly, his concern for his sister evident in his face but his words gave his siblings hope.

* * *

Katherine slipped into the cool, empty chapel with a heavy heart that grew heavier with each step. She approached the high altar, crossing herself piously and kneeling on the cold stone floor, bending her veiled auburn head, her eyes closing as she gripped the rosary threaded through her fingers. Here, in the sight of God, these walls have witnessed pain like hers before, where the stone floors have been soaked in their supplicant's tears, where the wooden pews were as much silent witnesses to fevered pleas as the figure of Christ. Amid these sacred walls, with the somber light peeking through the shadows, many hoped to find a respite from their sorrows. To the bent figure of the auburn-haired Queen it seemed as if sorrow was her constant companion in life. It clung to her like perfume, following her wherever she went, like a ghost haunting the house it had once lived in. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed like she could not escape from sorrow's greedy grasp. Contentment was an illusion; a fleeting, elusive, fragile state, but a sweet, intoxicating illusion nonetheless and Katherine wondered if she had felt it at all.. or if it had been a trick, a mere shadow on the wall, a figment of her imagination. She did not want to lose another child, for indeed, it felt like she was in danger of losing her own flesh and blood child.

_Dear God, in your mercy and love, do not take away little Madeleine's life;it would break Francis's heart and my own all over again, _she pleaded, repeating the words in her mind over and over again, her fingers moving over the beads of her rosary delicately and quickly, a single tear streaking down her cheek and onto her chin. She was so caught up in her sorrow and supplication that she did not feel the presence that had quietly knelt beside her.

"Madame." A quiet, grave voice said softly from beside her.

Katherine's eyes fluttered open, like the wings of a butterfly. She lifted her head slowly and glanced at the source of the interruption. It was her stepson.

"Henri." She gave him a small smile, which he returned as he turned away, bringing his hands together in prayer, his head bent, mimicking the Queen's earlier pose.

Katherine studied him for a moment. He was a handsome boy, with his fair face and dark brown hair. His grave demeanor made him seem older than his ten years.

"You are a strong boy, Henri,"she observed, letting her words hang in the air as the boy remained still and serious in his supplication. He did not face her, frozen in his pious pose, as he begged God to let his sister live.

"Why is that, Your Majesty?"

Katherine's fingers continued to glide over the smooth beads of her rosary. She turned her head away, taking her cue from her stepson and looked straight ahead at the altar in front of her.

"For bearing so much pain at such a young age," she replied in a measured, calm tone. She guessed that the boy was smart enough to know where this conversation was heading.

Henri stiffened, his posture becoming more rigid than before. Indeed, he did know where this conversation was heading and he was not entirely sure he was comfortable with this road they were going down, but he was already feeling vulnerable and weary and he knew that his stepmother meant well.

She continued at his silence. They still did not face each other. "But sooner or later, you must face that pain and your father or it will tear you apart." She spoke as if from experience.

His fingers twitched at the mention of his father. Finally he turned to face her. He had heard something in her voice that he wanted to satisfy his curiosity about.

"Do you care for my father?"

She let out a laugh, a hollow sound in light of the sorrow and worry they both felt in that moment. "You Valois and your piercing questions," she said, remembering her conversation with her sister-in-law that morning, when she had lost herself in that sweet illusion of contentment. Katherine turned to face him. They studied each other in that weak, somber light of the chapel.

"I...," she hesitated, turning the question over in her mind. Katherine had let Francis in despite knowing better and she felt that she could trust him with her vulnerabilities. If she was truly and brutally honest with herself, she could admit that maybe she was afraid of letting go of the pain Henry had caused her, of loving another man, because that would make her vulnerable again. She would let her guard down, like she had done this morning and lose herself in the fleeting illusion of contentment only to be faced with the cold, hard reality that had become her life; sorrow was in love with her. Henri watched her expectantly.

"I do," the Queen admitted finally, "and I care for you and your siblings."

He simply nodded solemnly, seeing the earnestness in her eyes. They lapsed into silence after that, neither quite knowing what to say. Unbeknownst to them both, the King had slipped into the chapel, seeking his own respite from sorrow and upon spotting them in deep conversation had remained quiet. He had heard the last part of their conversation and felt the need to make his presence known.

"Katherine," he simply called out.

Henri and Katherine both turned sharply at the same time, startled by the King's sudden appearance. Francis looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and weary to the bone. He looked in pain. He slowly made his way toward them. Henri and Katherine rose from their positions on the stone floor. Francis stopped in front of them, his dark eyes shifting to his son. A heavy tension descended upon the chapel as father and son studied each other. The somber, tentative peace of the chapel was poisoned by the bitterness between them. Henri made a move as if to leave, to flee, filled with an intense uncomfortableness.

"No, stay Henri," Katherine's voice rang out more sharply than she had intended. Her face softened as she reached for both of their hands, joining them. Francis and Henri both turned to look at her, playing the peacemaker between them.

"Now is the time to put aside your bitterness and your past, for the love you both bear Madeleine. If only for this moment."

A brief silence followed while her words sank in. Francis turned to look at his son, the one that made him fill with guilt each time he gazed upon him.

"She is right. Can you do that, Henri?"

The boy swallowed thickly but he nodded his head in assent anyway. For his sister, he would...

And when Marguerite of Navarre found them together in the chapel an hour later they were all kneeling before the altar together in prayer. The sight eased her searing pain a small amount for she had come to tell them that their prayers had been in vain; her niece would never open her eyes again. Death could not be undone nor repaired like bitterness and as she stood watching them, she prayed that they could weather this darkness together, as a family.

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**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and followed this story. I truly appreciate it. Reviews are love, they motivate me. Until next time. **


	8. Black and White

White.

The color of purity, innocence, perfection.

The color of French mourning.

Katherine's mind grasped onto such trivial details to distract her from the sharp, acute sensation in her chest as she walked numbly back to her chambers from the children's nursery, holding the tears that threatened to spill at bay, the dignified Queen to the last. She thought the color peculiar and ill-fitting to wear grief, but oddly she preferred it. Her grief was deep and wide, stretching and tightening, tauter and tauter, suffocating and smothering, until it took her breath away and she wanted to cry out in her panic. It was as dark as spilled ink and the night sky before the dawn arrived; it was much more suited to the color black.

But black was bitter and ruthless in it's deep darkness; it only brought to mind Madeleine's petite, lifeless form lying upon her sick bed, forever lost to the world. Katherine closed her eyes for a moment, to steel herself, as the image rose within her consciousness. Black carried with it the heartbreaking sound of the royal children's grief, the ghosts of their cries ringing incessantly in her ears, haunting and hollow. Black was cruel, like the way the light had died in Francis's eyes when the devastating news had been delivered, and the way he had cried out with grief and shock: "_My God, I know I must accept with patience whatever it be Thy will to send me, but from whom, if not from Thee, ought I to hope for strength and resignation?"_

White was sweeter, softer, merciful. The color of healing and remembrance. It brought to mind sweet Madeleine with her siblings, wearing her flower crown in the bright early morning light, the very picture of innocence and purity. The memory brought Katherine a small measure of peace amidst the sharp freshness of her grief. She barely registered the fact that she had entered her privy chamber until she spotted Diane de Poitiers heading toward her.

The rest of her ladies quietly curtsied to her, a few were crying. Diane approached her and solemnly curtsied, her fair face settled in a mask of composure. "Your Majesty, the King is here, in your bedchamber," she relayed in a low voice.

Katherine paused, looking at her as the words settled in before nodding in acknowledgment. Her eyes scanned over her mourning ladies-in-waiting as she gently dismissed them in a measured, yet still regal tone. The Queen continued on her way to her bedchamber, her ladies scattering silently.

She found him laying on his back in the middle of her bed, fully clothed, with his eyes shut. The only light in the room came from the candles placed on the bedside table, casting shadows on the wall behind it. Katherine tentatively approached the bed, unsure if her husband had fallen asleep. She slowly climbed onto the bed and settled beside him on top of the silk covers. She laid her head gently on his shoulder, a slender hand reaching out to rest on his chest. At her touch, Francis brought his arm up to squeeze her hand tightly. "Katherine," he whispered softly, his eyes still closed.

In response she reached up and placed a kiss on his temple, like he had once done in this very room. Now the roles were reversed and she was the one comforting him. "I am here,"she breathed in his ear, her head coming back to rest on his shoulder again. Her presence beside him was soothing, familiar like being reacquainted with an old lover whose body was a well-known map. "Have you ever lost a child?"

Katherine let out a deep breath, twisting her head up and burying her face into his neck, breathing in his masculine scent, committing it to memory. She lightly brushed her lips across the side of his neck before answering. "Yes, more than once. But they died as babes, younger than Madeleine," she replied lowly, pain flaring up in her chest.

The mention of his daughter's name was like a stab to the heart for both of them. She felt him shift beside her and looked up at him. He opened his eyes and inclined his head toward her, holding her gaze. Dark and heavy anguish was swimming in those dark irises and she felt a slash of pain looking into his eyes. She wanted to ease his pain, to wash it all away, with her own tears if need be.

"The pain never goes away," he told her, his voice cracking slightly at the end. Madeleine was not the first child he had lost. Louise and Charlotte had been lost to him in early childhood.

Her blue eyes softened. "No, it does not. It lessens, changes, but it never goes away," she agreed.

Francis looked away after that. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. There, in the semi-darkness, memories of his precious Madeleine began to haunt him and he felt like he was floating again, drowning in the cold waves of pain and memory until he felt like he couldn't breathe. Only Katherine, laying beside him, felt real and concrete. He sensed that she would not let the powerful waves of grief consume him. He was suddenly acutely aware of her soft touch and her breath in his ear. She had sensed his dark thoughts, and had leaned in closer, bringing her mouth next to his ear, and running a hand through his dark curls tenderly. "You are not alone," she murmured, her breath feather soft.

He rolled over until he was leaning over her, before burying his face into the curve of her warm and soft neck. "I need you, Katherine,"Francis whispered hotly against her alabaster flesh, his hand traveling to her waist. Katherine's heart beat quickened at his touch, her face warming, giving her complexion a rosy hue. "I am not pulling away," she whispered.

Francis lifted his head to look at her, his eyes darkening with desire. He brought a hand up to caress Katherine's cheek, the fair complexion stained with a splash of color. He held her gaze, then seeing his desire and grief mirrored in those blue eyes he crushed his lips against that of his wife's hungrily. Katherine eagerly responded, deepening the kiss, draping her arms around his neck.

He devoured her mouth greedily, as if he wanted to devour her whole. Their tongues danced passionately, fighting for dominance, which Francis eventually won. They both knew that in the morning Madeleine would still be dead but for tonight they could take comfort in each other. They were burning in the flames of desire and need and their clothes were an obstacle that Francis would soon remedy, as Katherine sat up and turned around, his fingers trailing urgently to the laces of her gown, sending a shiver down her spine. With his experienced fingers the offending gown and corset were soon removed, tossed carelessly to the ground. In turn, Katherine made quick work of removing her husband's clothing, her hurried movements fueled by her physical need of him.

With no barrier between them their limbs intertwined as they drank each other in, exploring and rediscovering the contours of each other's bodies. It was an intoxicating cocktail of grief, need and pleasure as Katherine's bed became the setting for their power play, their bodies twisting and turning to see who would get the upper hand, and this time it was Katherine who won. She straddled him, their eyes meeting and locking as she began to move, their fingers intertwined. She tossed her head back in pleasure as a sensation began to build in the pit of her stomach, but the Queen did not get to enjoy her position of dominance for long as Francis rolled over, leaning over his wife and positioning himself in between her legs.

When the King entered her, it was rougher, more urgent than before, a moan escaping Katherine's throat before Francis was there to capture the sound in his mouth. As he began to move, his mouth still on hers, he tilted his head, leaving the sweetness of her lips to whisper in her ear: "With you I find strength and resignation." It was the answer to the anguished question he had asked God in the chapel after he learned of Madeleine's passing.

His words touched her deeply. Her only response was to breathlessly whisper his name, she would never know how much he savored the sound of his name on her lips and to bring their lips into contact once more. When they were finished husband and wife lay spent in each other's arms. They did not speak, finding words to be intrusive upon the fragment of peace and comfort they had found with each other. Oppressive grief still lingered and stretched endlessly in their hearts but Francis found that together they could bear its weight. With Katherine's head on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and was lulled to sleep by the sound of her even, steady breathing.

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**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and followed this story. It is much appreciated. I'm sorry if this chapter is shorter than previous ones but it felt like the right place to stop. Reviews are love, they motivate me. Until next time. **


	9. What Goes Up Must Come Down

**October 1529, Château de Blois, France**

_Your Majesty,_

_I pray this finds you in good health and in good spirits. My husband, the King, and I extend our deepest condolences and sympathies for the tragic loss of Princess Madeleine. I can only imagine the pain the royal family is going through and hope that all will be well in time. His Majesty, King Henry often talks about his daughter the Princess Mary and I know that he misses her. I know that he would enjoy hearing news of her and her health. Regarding your last letter, Madame, I must express my gratitude for the advice you gave me. I know how difficult it must have been for you to write that letter. You should know that I am taking your advice; I am making allies at court, reaching out to the common people through charity, as Your Majesty once did. I sincerely hope that we will correspond again, perhaps one day we can even become friends._

"May God bless and keep you, signed Anne, Queen of England," Katherine finished reading the letter aloud in her soft, low voice, letting the letter fall into her lap, her pensive gaze following its descent. She let the words, written in an elegant, feminine script sink in before shifting her gaze back up.

A small smile curved her lips, a melodic laugh escaping from her alabaster throat, as if only she knew a secret that others burned to know. "It seems Queen Anne is getting along well in her position. Her letter is lovely. I did not see anything treasonous in it, did you, Marguerite?" The question was directed at her sister-in-law who sat in an armchair beside her but Katherine's piercing gaze traveled to the young woman seated in an armchair across from her. Madame d'Etampes stiffened but said nothing, giving the Queen a frozen smile.

Marguerite watched the interaction between the two women in silence, her face impassive, but a hint of amusement danced in her dark eyes. One of Katherine's ladies, a petite brunette, gently placed a platter of sweets on the table between them and curtsied gracefully before stepping some distance away, enough to give the women some privacy but close enough that she was in reach if her services were needed.

"I am only jesting, Madame," Katherine told the young woman, her smile still in place, yet not quite reaching her eyes, which continued piercing into Madame d'Etampes' own. A silent understanding passed between them, the underlying tension between mistress and wife twisted sharply like a knife sunk into flesh and bled into their seemingly light facade. Katherine was aware of Anne de Pisseleu's scheming; Francis had let it slip during one of their nights together that Anne had tried to plant seeds of doubt about her in his mind, accusing her of being the Emperor's spy and casting shadows over the innocent letter she had written to Anne Boleyn. The Queen had invited the brunette to her chambers on the principle of 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer.'

Katherine's relationship with her husband had shifted; in public it remained as it had always been, polite and one of mutual respect. They were the King and Queen, the dignified royal couple. In private they were simply Katherine and Francis. They had gotten closer in the aftermath of Madeleine's death and the distance between them had closed, the cold touch of Katherine's past had warmed. The ghosts of her life in England had finally released their hold on her and she had found peace and dare she say it, happiness, even amid the bleak landscape of tragedy and loss. Katherine would not let the woman sitting across from her ruin that contentment. She could not. The sweet, intoxicating taste of contentment was addictive after long years of poisoned bitterness and the sharp sting of coldness.

"Your Majesty has a wonderful wit," Madame d'Etampes replied stiffly, her tone mirroring her posture. She sat as still, uptight and cold as a marble statue, her face impassive and eyes guarded. She was not comfortable nor happy being in the Queen's presence.

"One of the many qualities my brother, the King, likes about Her Majesty, I am sure," Marguerite interjected, leaning back in the armchair, letting her arms rest on its sides, as she continued to watch both women with curiosity, her sharp gaze missing nothing. The Queen of Navarre could sense there was so much left unsaid in this game of pretending and false cheerfulness. She approved of the developments in Katherine and Francis's relationship and did not want to see her brother and sister-in-law unhappy. They deserved more than that and she thought they worked well together. They understood each other in a way others did not, but as long as Anne de Pisseleu was in the picture there would be an obstacle to their happiness.

Madame d'Etampes shifted her gaze in Marguerite's direction, dipping her head elegantly. "Her Majesty has many good qualities," she flattered. The brunette was not a novice in keeping up pretenses and she could play along as well as any courtier. She wondered what the Queen hoped to gain from this farce. Was she hoping to find common ground? Well, that would never happen. Anne would never be friends with the woman that was her rival for the King's heart.

The trio settled into silence after that, finding no more words to add to the script of this play. Anne preferred the silence anyway. Katherine reached out and took a sweet from the plate on the table, bringing it to her mouth, savoring its pleasant taste. After she finished chewing, she spoke again. "Queen Anne's pregnancy is progressing smoothly I hear. I wonder if she can give King Henry a healthy male heir," Katherine pondered quietly.

The prospect had once pained her but not anymore. She had moved past the ghosts that once haunted her. The mention of a child brought back a flash of grief and she was not the only one who felt that way. They all still felt the loss of Madeleine keenly. Katherine could not enter the children's nursery without seeing flashes of the little girl's image, the memory of her presence in that room still lingered in the air, embedded in every stone of the nursery.

"I never conveyed my condolences for your loss, Your Majesty," Anne spoke and there was genuineness in her voice for the first time, her eyes remaining guarded. They locked gazes for a moment, connected by the thread of shared grief and the earlier tension dissipated a little. Katherine leaned forward in her seat, a small, sad smile playing upon her fair features. She did not know what possessed her to reach a slender hand out to briefly squeeze Madame d'Etampes' own slender hand.

"It is your loss as well. You knew her longer than I did."

Katherine's hand was warm to the touch and Anne knew she should move her hand away, that she should not be sharing such a..._human _moment with her rival but Katherine's gaze held her in place.

"Do you have any children, Madame?"

"No."

There was a flicker of softness in the young woman's gaze that had not been there before and something else, something darker before it disappeared and her eyes became guarded again. The moment passed and Anne moved her hand away. This did not change anything. They still remained enemies. Katherine moved her hand away, leaning back into the armchair, the movement causing a sudden wave of nausea to wash over her. She closed her eyes, bringing her hand over her mouth until the spell passed. This had been occurring frequently over the past few days and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew the cause of her illness...but it couldn't be!

Her sister-in-law cast her a knowing look, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Anne sat frozen in her seat, feeling like she had just been doused with cold water. She kept a polite smile on her face, but inside she was seething. No! This could not be happening!

"Are you unwell, Katherine?" Marguerite asked, keeping up the farce.

"I am very well, I think," Katherine replied softly, her eyes finding Anne's.

"Very well, indeed."

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Katherine's suspicions were confirmed by a midwife and her personal physician. She was going to be a mother again, being a month along. Words could not accurately describe how she had felt when the doctor had told her she was indeed with child. The Queen had never imagined hearing those words again. Henry had not visited her bed since 1524 and amid the miscarriages and stillbirths she had lost hope of having another child. But now God had blessed her and she felt a rush of joy flowing through her veins at the thought of the spark of new life growing within her.

The feelings of joy and hope were like taking small sips from the cocktail of emotions Katherine felt. There was fear and apprehension swimming in her veins, mixing and simmering with her joy. She did not have a good track record with pregnancy after all, having only one surviving child and she feared losing this child, this hopeful blessing. She wanted to carry this child to term, Francis's child, to give Mary and her step-siblings a half sibling. Katherine gently placed a hand on her stomach, as if to reassure herself of the life growing within before letting her hand drop back to her side.

She was on her way to the King's apartments. As Katherine approached Francis's chambers, the guards standing alert outside bowed to her and murmured 'Your Majesty.' She gave them a warm smile in return and nodded her auburn head briefly in response to their greeting. Once she crossed the threshold into the presence chamber, Katherine was greeted by Francis's chamberlain, who bowed to her in his solemn manner.

"His Majesty is in his office," the young blonde told her. "I will escort you."

"Thank you," Katherine murmured and followed the young man to Francis's private office.

She stood in the open doorway as the chamberlain announced her. "Her Majesty, the Queen."

Both Francis and Anne de Montmorency looked up from the stack of papers laid out on the desk they were huddled over before Katherine's arrival. The chamberlain bowed once again and quietly departed. A smile curved Katherine's lips as she locked gazes with her husband. "Am I interrupting something, Your Majesty?"

He gave her a charming smile in return as he shook his head. She loved the way his lips curved into a smile and the way he looked at her with his piercing dark eyes. It made her heart beat quicken. It made her feel alive, appreciated...loved.

Francis glanced at Montmorency. "No, you are not interrupting anything. Montmorency was just about to leave."

The Grand Marshal of France bowed his head in agreement and stepping around the desk bowed before Katherine. "Good day, Your Majesties."

She smiled. "Montmorency," Katherine greeted shortly.

The Grand Marshal departed, leaving the two of them alone finally. Francis came around to the front of the oak desk, leaning back against it, placing his palms on its smooth surface for support, looking at his wife, drinking her in.

"Katherine."

The sound of her name off his tongue was pleasing to her ears. Oh, how she could lose herself in its texture and melody!

She went to stand beside him, close enough to sense his body heat. She tilted her head up to look at his handsome face, taking in every feature. "I have two important matters to discuss," she said in her low, resounding voice.

Francis looked down at her fair face. "I am listening."

Katherine placed a hand on his chest, stepping closer, her touch as feather-soft and light as a whisper. She leaned her head in closer, by his ear. "We are going to have a child," she breathed, the molecules of that breath carrying and transmitting her joy and fear.

Francis stood transfixed to the spot, her words sinking in. A joyful laugh bubbled in his throat, spilling out into the space between them. He closed any distance between them by wrapping his arms around her, bringing her into his embrace. "That is magnificent, joyous news, my Queen."

Francis leaned back slightly, bringing his hands up to cup his wife's face. He looked into her clear blue eyes. His happiness was reflected in her gaze like glass but there was something else there too. He saw a sliver of fear flicker in her eyes like candlelight in the wind and his chest tightened. Of course she would be apprehensive about this pregnancy, having lost many children before. But the fact she was pregnant in the first place when her former husband thought her barren was a divine blessing and they could take hope and comfort in that.

Francis tipped her chin up towards his face. "It is okay to be scared," he reassured, leaning forward to steal her delicious lips like a thief, sinking into her as if she were the ocean and he was enveloped in the silky embrace of its waters, pulled deeper and deeper until he reached the bottom and there was only her.

They broke apart and he brought her into an embrace again, running his hands up and down her back as Katherine rested her head against his chest. They stayed like this, in peaceful silence, for a beat until Francis remembered her words from earlier. "You said you had two matters to discuss. What of the second?"

Katherine stiffened in his embrace. She was reluctant to crush his good mood but it was necessary. Anne de Pisseleu had started this but she had to be the one to finish it.

"It is...sensitive. Regarding Madame d'Etampes."

Francis winced at the mention of his mistress. Her name sounded out of place here, between the two of them.

"What about her?"

Katherine paused.

"She had an affair with Philippe de Chabot."

He froze.

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**A/N: I had horrible writer's block with this chapter and your reviews were very motivating, so thank you to everyone who was read, reviewed and followed this story. It is truly appreciated. Until next time. **


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